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Harvard College 



Library 




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FROM THE BEQUEST OF 

SAMUEL SHAPLEIGH 

GLASS OF 1789 
LiBBABZAM OF HaKVASD CoUBGX 

1793-1800 



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TADEUSKUND, 



THE 



&AST xhni of tbb AENAPB 



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AN 



HISTORICAL TALE. 



Hoston: 

FUBLISHED BT CCMMINGS, HILLURD, & CO. 

PIIIHTID Bt BILLIARD AIID MSTOALr. 

1836. 



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^<\jMla^^ 



DISTMCT OP MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT: 

IHttriet Clerk't Offiu. 

6s IT REMEMBERSD, tfaat OH the fourteenth day of May, A. D. 
1826; in the forty-ninth year of the Independence of the United 
States of America, Cummings, Hiiiiard^ & Co. of the said district, 
have deposited in this office the title of a book/ the right whereof 
they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to wit : 
'< Tadeuskand, the Last King of the Lenape. An Historical Tale.*' 
In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, 
entitled, <' An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the 
copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and prpprietors of 
such copies, during the times therein mentioned :" and als&to an 
Act, entitled, " An Act, supplementary to an Act, entitled, * An Act 
for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, 
charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, 
during the times therein mentioned;' and extending the benefits 
thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical, 
and other prints." 

JNO. W. DAVIS, 
GUrk oj Hit Uistrici of Mastaehuicttit^ 






TADEUSKUND. 



CHAPTER 1. 



How reverend was the look* serenely ag*d 
He bore^ this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, 
Where all but kindly fervours were assuag'd, 
Undiramed by weakness* shade or turbid ire ; 
And though amidst the calm of thought entire. 
Some high and haughty features might betray 
A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire 
That fled composure's intellectual ray. 
As iStna's fires grow dim before the rising day. 

CAHPBBLTi. 



JLs a landscape painter, collecting subjects for the exer- 
cise of his art, roams over the plains of ancient Ausonia ; 
copying, here, bounding waterfalls or smoky <!ottages } 
there, ruinous temples, or rank poplars, shadowing the 
brow of beetling rocks; and, at last, in his composition, 
unites objects and forms, which, though never seea 
together, still bear the stamp .of truth, in their individual 
faithfulness to nature ; so has the author of the following 
tale endeavoured to collect such traits and scenes in the 
history and aspect of his country, as may, in their fictitious 
arrangement, give a representation of truth, from which 
he has endeavoured never to depart* 

It was in the month of October, 1762, when, as the 
sun was retiring below the western hills, an old man, 
after a long journey, reached the banks of the Dela- 
ware. His dress indicated that he belonged to the 
society of Friends; his features wore an expression of 



eheerful benevolence, tfacugfa marks of past misfortune 
Y^ere still impressed on his hairless brow. His wish had 
been to arrive at Easton, on the evening of that day ; 
but a storm which raged the preceding night had filled 
the little streams, and even the roads, in some places, 
with a redundance of water ; and so impeded his way, 
that he found himself, at the close of the day, still dis- 
tant from the intended termination of his solitary march. 
From a cliff, projecting over the winding river, he ob- 
tained a more exWnsive view of the scenery. His eyes, 
directed down the current^ met with rocks and hills, 
toppefd with.iEiraving pines and rustling birch trees; but 
no trace of human presence could be discovered. As 
he turned towards the upper shore, however, he noted 
some dwellings at a distance, which he hoped he might 
reach before the dim rays of the departing sun should 
have ceased to illumine his way. 

In tins expectation he was likewise disappointed ; for 
as he descended from the eminence, he was arrested in 
his course by a brook, which, once a harmless rill, was 
now transformed into a noisy torrent by tributary- 
waters from the late shower. A small bridge, made of 
a few logs, but slightly consolidated, till this day had 
been thought a sufficiently safe pass for the traveller ; 
but this had been washed away by the violence of the 
swelling stream. It was impossible to wade; aod^ 
weary as he was, the pilgrim saw no other means to 
attain the other side, than to ascend the banks until 
some object might offer itself to assist him in crossing 
the water. With the resolution of a younger man, he 
advanced, first through a low ground, where few impedi- 
ments delayed his steps ; but as he ascended, the road 
became more and more incumbered with obstacles ; 
now a ledge of rocks obstructed his way, then he was 
compelled to find a passage through briars and vines, 50 
interlaced ^s to form- a formidable barrier even to the 
roving Indians. 

Night bad succeeded to the uncertain twilight, and 



5 

swift 'flying clouds, the dispersing remains of the storm, 
still intercepted the light of the raoon« Our traveller, 
harassed by a long journey, weighed down with care 
and incertitude, hesitated whether he would retrace his 
steps or continue his march. To return, exposed him 
to the necessity of spending a chilly night in the open 
air ; to proceed, still offered to him the possibility of 
gaining the other side of the stream; but his. hopes 
were dubious, and the undertaking dangerous. Resolved 
to proceed in his attempt, he advanced for some time, 
approaching nearer to the steep and high bank, that he 
might distinguish such adventitious assistance as might 
favour his design ; but his nightly course was suddenly 
impeded by a number of si^atbed trees, which the wind 
bad prostrated to the ground. His courage, which had 
been tried by greater dangers, did not fail hini here ; 
but his strength every moment lessened with his efforts. 
He reclined his head towards the earth, and for a few 
moments, rested himself on the trunk of one of the trees 
which lay piled one upon another. His reflections, at 
that hour, were not obscured by gloom or despondency. 
Exposed to trials from his infancy, often .rewarded by 
Providence for his virtues, he had learned to look upon 
evils, as the only admonition by which we may be made 
sensible of the blessings we receive. The tenets of his 
sect taught him to subdue his passions ; his heart, to 
love men. His aim was to instil in others bis love of 
peace ; his present object, to prevent the effusion of 
human blood, as the representative of that tribe sancti- 
fied by the appellation of the children of God. For 
many years, solely devoted to this favorite theme, often 
crowned with success, he hastened to the place where 
war threatened to stain humanity with new crimen. 

While pausing thus, his thoughts more than once 

were directed to the storm, the swelling flood, and the 

various obstacles which seemed designed to impede his 

course. So firm was his belief in the wisdom' of the dis* 

I* 



pensations of the Ruler above, that he never permitted 
himself to murmur, but could not conslantly help wonder- 
ing at the strange law, wJiich so far limits our understand- 
ing, that we may at times doubt whether we be permitted 
to accomplish what virtue would at all times command us 
to perform. He concluded, however, by hoping, his 
purpose was only retarded for some unknown cause ; 
that he might not be baffled in this instance, and that he 
should be allowed to deliver his messages of peace. 

At that instant, he raised his head, and his eyes, 
glowing with renewed fire, received and reflected the 
rays of the moon. That orb, the fair consoler and 
companion of the forlorn traveller, just arisen from a 
fleecy bed of clouds, that were fast sinking in the hori- 
zon, rolled then, in a spotless sky, strewed with myriads 
of twinkling stars. He looked around, and at once 
perceived that the pile of felled trees, which he had 
thought before an obstacle in his path, bad been thus 
placed, as it were, for his passage and safety ; for the 
enormous pine, on which he just now reclined, had 
fallen across the torrent, and resting on the opposite 
bank, formed a natural bridge over a deep and fearful 
excavation, produced by the constant rolling of the 
waters. Another tree, fallen in the same direction, but 
resting on more elevated ground presented itself as a 
support to the hand of him who would dare endanger 
his life on that untried and narrow path. 

He did not hesitate for a moment; his vigour was 
renewed, and, with a firm step he advanced, committing 
himself on the frail and creaking bridge. Nor was it 
as safe as it seemed when unexplored ; for several of 
the fragile branches which sustained its summit oa the 
opposite bank, bending and breaking under him, gave 
to the tree a vacillating inipulse, increasing at every 
step. Had he been confused by the fear of beiog 
hurled from his support headlong into the precipice, this 
place would have witnessed his fall, with his destruction. 



Bat be preserired his self-possession ; at last reached 
the other side, and directed bis course towards the 
forest, not however, without casting a glaoce of grati- 
tude above. 

While Burton, for such was his name, followed the 
efa'cuitotts course of the stream, he had in a measure 
lost sight of the direction which he ought to pursue to 
reach the dwellings he had viewed, when on the banks 
of the Delaware. 

In his incertitude, he had first resolved to follow the 
stream, until he should regain the road, but this course 
would have retarded his march ; for he presumed, — and 
it was more than probable, — that the spot, on which he 
now stood, was not much more distant from the hamlet, 
than the place of his departure. He concluded therefore 
to traverse the pathless thicket which lay before him. 
He had not travelled long, qre his ear was struck with a 
sound, which, however, soon died with the transitory 
blast that glided among the leaves of the birch trees. 
He paused for some moments, that be might listen dur- 
ing the silence, interrupted only at times by the fluctuat* 
ing breath of the wind. 

Presently, the same sound, though still indistinct, more 
audibly vibrated in the air. It seemed the beating of 
a drum, mingled with the shrill notes of a fife. Now it 
receded from the ear, as if rolling away upon the 
breeze ; then it swelled progressively over the moun- 
tains. But every moment it became louder and more 
loud. At last, our traveller was convinced that he was 
not deluded by his imagination, and that these martial 
sounds must proceed from some military band advancing 
in the vicinity. And although it was heard in a direc- 
tion opposite to that which he now followed, be turned 
instantly towards that point, and proceeded to ascend a 
hill that lay before him. When on the brow of this 
elevation, he perceived several lights -which announced 
to him that he was near a settlement. He now heard 



distinctly the sound of tbe drum, that seemed to ap- 
proach the same habitation ; he redoubled bis pace, and 
presently reached a ri>ad, which be little suspected lay 
so near the solitary place, where, but just now, he 
thought himself distant from society and human succour. 
He now perceived that he was fortunately come to an 
inn, built of logs, which, with three or four houses rudely 
constructed, formed a little village, where a band of 
volunteers had just halted for the night. They had al 
ready entered tbe house and filled the rooms, unpre- 
pared for the reception of so many guests. Burton, 
who could easily guess at the cause of these warlike 
preparations, not as an unconcerned spectator, but with 
many feelings of anxiety, joined himself to the motley 
crowd, which thronged to the same place. There, with 
various wants and various demands, each strove to be 
first relieved. The room was spacious, but hardly large 
enough to contain all who claimed admittance ; for, in* 
dependent of the military troop, the neighbours, young 
and old, ba<] assembled to see and to hestr ; some per- 
sonally interested, others imaginitig to be so ; all excited 
by the curiosity so natural, among those who live remote 
from populous parts. The weather being quite chilly, 
a fire had been made in the huge chimney, where lay 
the entire trunk of a tree ; this with the addition of dry 
branches and pine knots, gave a bright flame, which « 
spreading its dazzling illumination through the room, 
w*as a sufficient substitute for other lights, almost un- 
Icnowii at that period in new colonies. 

That the reader may be informed of the cause of 
these preparations for war, let him but recollect the dis- 
turbances, which had distracted Pennsylvania, since the 
year 1754. The Indians, long friendly to tbe colony 
settled by the benevolent William Penn, were now in- 
duced to take arms against their former allies ; not to 
attack the Quakers, — for they had. given no offence, — 
but to wreak their vengeance on the perpetrators of 



repeated injasdce. A number of fanatics, prompted 
by perverted principles of religion, had vowed the total 
destruction of the native tribes ; to these were joined 
in greater number, a body of villains, who, actuated by 
motives of interest or revenge, had united in that bar- 
barous design. 

Their animosity was excited by Canadians, who, still 
opposed to the English, strove to induce them to make 
a common cause, with themselves, jointly with the Six 
Nations. They sent emissaries among the various tribes 
inhabiting the southern provinces. These ambassadors 
rousing the pacific, upbraiding the timid, encouraged 
revenge, and every where sowed the seeds of discord* 
Notwithstanding the efforts of the Quakers to restore 
peace and harmony, the earth had more than once been 
stained with blood, and the forests resounded with cries 
of war. 

For some days past, the inhabitants on the Delaware, 
near the place where the little troop were now assem- 
bled, had been alarmed by confused reports of the presK 
ence of a war party of Mingoes in the neighbourhood. 
But their apprehensions became painful certitude, when 
robberies were committed, and when a white hunter was 
found, murdered in a forest, which extended towards 
the blue mountains. 

In consequence of this, several inhabitants had met 
in haste, to pursue the murderers, and composed the 
little band, whose drum had so propitiously guided the 
traveller to the place where we left them assembled. 

Burton, unwilling to draw at first the attention of the 
company on himself, selected a situation little exposed to 
view, from which he might observe and listen unmark- 
ed. To a satirical or careless observer, the groupe 
might have seemed rather ludicrous than formidable, 
for, at that period, and particularly in such emergency, 
attention to the uniform, and outward appearance of a 
military body, was not thought indispensable ; and yet, 
such is the propensity of man to strive to be distinguish-^ 



10 

ed above the rest, that all the warlike apparel, which 
each incliFiclual could obtain, had been mustered on this 
occasion ; but a strange dissimilarity in their dress 
seemed lo have been intended to give the troop the air 
of a martial masquerade, somewhat resembling those 
juvenile companies, which boys are wont to form ia 
their hours of relaxation. All were armed with good 
rifles, however, and prepared with ammunition for a dis- 
tant expedition. But several of them had been reduced 
to limit their military attire to some old red plumes at- 
tached in front of their long worn hats, or to a check- 
ered sash, employed in peaceful times, as a Sunday- 
head dress, by their now disconsolate wives or sisters. — 
Some were more successful in their researches in an- 
cient drawers, and had had the skill to adapt to their 
broad shoulders various uniform coats, formerly worn 
on such occasions by their grandsires, and transmitted 
from father to son with little alteration, except in their 
fading colours. — Only a small number had succeeded 
however in fitting to their own limbs the whole of the 
venerable relics of their ancestors, so that few of them 
had a complete dress that might give the idea of a 
soldier's garb, but the contrast arising from these un- 
wonted ornaments imparted a grotesque appearance to 
the band, not a little enhanced by a martial deportment, 
which several longed to assume on the present occasion* 
In the centre of the room stood a man, rather short in 
stature, but whose rotundity amply compensated for his 
lack of height, with a round, smiling face, on which lit- 
tle expression could be observed but that of whimsical 
self-complacency — his eyeballs projected so much un- 
der his retreating forehead, that one would have thought 
it impossible for his almost imperceptible eyelids to cov- 
er such luminaries — his rosy lips also protruded beyond 
the ordinary limits, but had this inconvenience to those 
with whom he conversed, that they were the conveyors 
of a shower of little drops which he distributed around 
with unconscious generosity. His coat was that of a 



11 

Prussian sergeant; he wore long boots, almost reaching 
the upper extremity of his thigh ; these, as he pretend- 
ed were designed to guard him against the bite of the 
rattlesnake, but malicious neighbours supposed them to 
be worn by him, with an intention of exciting ill- 
gtounded terrors among the Indian foes. This strange 
accoutrement was rendered more picturesque by a little 
hat, the brim of which was so very small that he found 
it necessary to take it with both hands when he bowed ; 
which circumstance was indeed somewhat inconvenient 
to him, for he was prone to lavish reverences and salu- 
tations. Before the rest, he had visited the culinary 
department, and searched for provisions in weH known 
places. He already held in one hand a huge Germaa 
tumbler, containing a liquor pi'epared by him, which he 
extolled to the company, as containing the necessary in- 
gredients to form his favourite beverage, namely, gin, 
milk, and sugar ; the whole being topped with a crust 
of grated nutmegs. In his other hand, he flourished 
with exultation a well-cured ham, in which he had made 
a considerable indentation. Having quaffed full half 
its contents, he offered it around, challenging all to as* 
sist in emptying the glass. 

" In Shermany," said he, with a sigh, " I used always 
to drink kirsh wasser for a dram, but here such telicacies. 
canH be had, as long as these plack-faced Indians keep' 
us from quiet work, and spoil our larders, and blunder 
our orchards, and steal our gattle. Come, Rogers, help 
me to drink off this liquor of mine.'' 

" I never drink milk," was the surly answer, " nor 
will any milk sop ever tempt me to drink such sucking 
pig's beverage.'^ 

" This is no milk soop or big peferage, either," said 
Fritz Conrad, for such was his Saxon appellation, " but 
I ought to have remembered, that you like no other 
drink than the juice of jaw tobacco. Derdifle ! a goot 
smoking pipe of cut-and-dry will pass with a mug of 
peer, but that jawing and swallowing of big-tail will 



12 

/Sever become, but ladjans or people tbat live like 
them," 

This last sentence of Conrad's speech was spoken in 
a low tone of voice, and so indistinctly that the grim- 
visaged hunter, as the speaker probably intended, heard 
sot the ofiending censure. This Rogers was a tall man, 
extremely lean, but apparently strong and active. His 
hollow, weather-beaten cheeks indicated that the great- 
er part of his life had been spent in the wilderness, in 
the toilsome pursuit of game. A remarkable obliquity 
of his vision, without impairing the accuracy of his sight, 
gave the impression to those who conversed with him, 
^ that he looked in another direction. A smile, when it 
rested on his stem countenance, indicated nothing but 
the exultation of villany ; and a codstant habit of re- 
volving tobacco in his mouth had imparted a quivering 
motion to his lips, which io course of time had become 
involuntary. His red whiricers had been allowed to 
grow untouched by the razor, so far down his neck, that 
they united under bis chin, and gave a more terrific 
cast to his lU-oraened countenance, rendered still more 
savage by a high cap, made of a whole skin, once the 
living garb of a fox, the tail of which was left entire, 
and floated usually over the shoulder, or waving for- 
ward, blended itself with the concolour whiskers of this 
inhabitant of the wilderness. Satisfied with his answer 
to Conrad's civility, he had sought for a seat, and rest- 
ing himself on a log, which bad long served as a bench 
for the children of the house, he sternly fixed his eyes 
(one of them at least) on the vivid blaze which then il- 
luminated the whole apartment, and remained in the 
same attitude, seemingly indifierent4o, and unconscious 
of, the bustle around. 

In the meanwhile Conrad had easily found other 
more condescending guests, who graced his cup with 
smacking lips, until completely drained of its heteroge- 
neous contents. He then proceeded to slice the re** 
flDains of the bam, and, with an air of conceited geuerosi- 



13 

ty, distributed his favours among the companiods of his 
journey. 

" At this hour,'* he exclaimed, with a ludicrous tone 
of querimoniousness, " but for these salfages, I could, 
at mine house, treat you with a right goot Supper, ray • 
fery goot friendis, and* gif you a taste of my own hams ; 
and leave it to your fery correct chutgeraeots, liiy excel- 
lent comrades, to decide whether I possess not the peau- 
fiful talent of raising and curing and smoking paeon ; 
as* well as any man in Vestphalia. But halas ! I hafe 
lost all ; these fillains hafe stole my pigs, my most excel-j 
lent friends, and my mare, and my coalt, and all my 
koats. They hafe left me nothing but this great sword 
that I received in way of compliment for my prafery, at. 
the battle of Brague, from the hands of our most illus- 
trious and chuditious king, the great Frederick." 

Here the speech of our warrior, the theme of which 
had diverged from bis bacon to Frederick the Great, 
was crowned with a bow, performed with some difficul- 
ty, as a newly replenished glass occupied one of his 
hands, whilst the other still retained the denuded femur,. 
which once had been styled a ham. 

•^ But pray Conrad, tell us," said a short young fel- 
low, with a malicious, knowing countenance, and a 
turned-up nose, '^ how it happened that you should have 
left so discriminating and grateful a monarch } and come 
to a country where his great sword was of no avail to . 
defend your beloved pigs against a few wandering 
Indians ?" 

" As for leafing Frederick's army," replied Conrad, 
" I had ray own prifate reasons, and as to a few Indjans, 
I teny that insinuation of yours, for, I hafe counted with 
mine eyes more tlian tree hundred." 

"Truly!" said the sneering young fellow, "your 
eyes, I perceive, have not been enlarged by nature for 
no puropse, for they certainly have strangely magnified 
the n'umber of your enemies." 

" Ach ! ach ! my excellent friend," replied Conrad, 
2 



14 

with repressed impatience, ^' your little eyes may see as 
well as mine, but not one man in the fiUage will tare to 
contradict, that I saw dirty Indjans at least round each 
of my peastsj and all was taken-^— and upon my word, 
my honest friend, I tefended myself more than " tree 
hours, against a host of one hundred or more, pesides 
those that carried away my shwine." 

" But how' is it," said the youth, " that when your 
neighbours came to your assistance, no mark of blood- 
shed, no corpse, was left to give more subsltantial signs 
of your valour ??' 

" A great question," cried Conrad unawares ; " How 
could 1 kill any poty through the cellar door, when it 
was shut so fast that 1 could not lift it alone ?" 

" And pray how came you to defend yourself in the 
cellar ?" was the natural question , accompanied by a 
sneering titter. 

^ That part of the conversation, rather painful to Con- 
rad, and enibarrassing to his wonted ingenuity to boast, 
was suddenly interrupted by a good natured farmer, 
who saved him from the confusion, which Conrad could 
hardly have escaped by returning to the chief topick, in- 
teresting to all, namely, the number of the enemy. 
*' We are all convinced, neighbour Conrad, that they 
are the same, who have before and since committed 
plunder among us within a month past ; and they are 
^-undoubtedly the same who murdered Timothy Wood- 
ward." 

" The same," repeated several voices. " And for 
their number," said the pug-nosed youth," they cannot 
amount to more than twenty-five, for I had a glimpse of 
the band, as I was watching a flock of pigeons on the 
mountain ; I could swear they belonged to the tribe of 
Tadeuskund, and I recognised under the dangling legs 
of one of the villains the lamented mare of this gentle- 
roan, the king of Prussia's friend." 

Conrad, who by this time had recovered his pAsence 
of mind, could not refrain from a little hint by way of 
revenge, as he thought, upon his opponent, '^ 



15 

" Tid you kill many pigeons on that day, my estima- 
ble friend f And if you did not hafe arms to get pro- 
vision for a pie, I tare say you borrowed a gun from 
these civil sbentlemen. Did you. not, my noble and 
prave friend ?" 

'But it was ordained that he should again be inter- 
rupted. It was by Rogers, the gruff-looking hunter, 
who till then had retained the same position, so im- 
moveably, that but for the tremulous motion of his lips, 
one might have taken him for one of those dried ana- 
tomical preparations, that are found in the collections 
of surgeons. He had turned his head towards the 
young destroyer of pigeons, though one of his eyqs 
seemed rather to have 6xed itself on poor Conrad, who, 
viiih all his conciliatory propensity, could not divest 
himself of the signs of an irrepressible feeling of restraint 
before that man. 

*' You talk very knowingly, Tom Short," said Rogers 
to the youth " when you say you would swear, that the 
clan belongs to the Wyoming settlements ; had you ndt 
better say instead of that, you can swear for a lie at any 
time, and for the truth only when it can be taken for 
a lie ?" 

" Oh, not so bad as that," replied Tom Short, " on 
that score; I follow your wise practice, which is to 
fiwear for a lie or the truth, as it may suit my interest 9 
and in this instance I'll tell you frankly, though it fa* 
vours my whim, that Tadeu^kund's tribe should be 
charged with this plunder, for I long to see them dis- 
lodged from the Valley of Wyoming ; I'll tell you I am 
convinced these Indians really came from the Susque- 
Jbanna." 

" Well, my honest, truth-dealing saint," said Rogers 
*' I will serve you with a dish of the same sort — ^you 
bear an ill will to the Wyoming dogs, and / have sworn 
destruction to the whole red race ; but I make this dif- 
ference, that I know these to be Mingoes, that I know 
them to be nearer at band, that I have heard them 



16 

speak wiih ray own e^v^; apd to cut tbe matter short, 
that this rifle of mine, no later than last night, brought 
pne of them to the ground ; and of this I can show you 
proof more substantial than words." 

p Sayif»g this he pulled out a bloody scalp, which, till 
then, he had kept concealed in his hunting pough. 
Viewing the object which testified his wreakful deed, he 
seemed to exult in his hideous hatred ; he rose fronji 
his seat, and swinging the scalp in one hand, lookec} 
round with an air of malignant satisfaction, in the thought 
of having excited horror in his less sanguinary compan- 
ions. " This, as I think," continued he, with a convul- 
sive sneer, " this bit of hairy skin, shows pretty clearly^ 
that I know something of these new visitors, and that 1 
came near enough to have a sort of talk with them. 
Ah ! compassionate ! ^onx Short ? Trujy you seem Cq 
startle ! Look to it, this is no pigeon shooting It i^ 
indeed tbe scalp of as stout a fellow as ever dared to 
jCross ray path. He fell, and lamed as he was by my 
Hfle ball^ be made it a tough work for me to despatch 
bim handsomely to hell. And ihat shall be the end of 
the xjursed race, before many months, if all follow our 
plan, which is to exterminate from our woods, even to 
tbe last, these heathenish dogs." 

Perceiving that the whole assembly was intent on the 
recital of his prowess, all listening } many, with abhor- 
rence for his cruelty, whjle some seemed to approve his 

'-^gtiiW in their looks, he cast around a look of defiance on 
the ruthless, of aversion on the humane, and lastly of 
^orn on the whole. Apparently satisfied with the stern 
silence, occasioned by his action, he seated himself on 
the same unoccupied bench, in the same attitude, and 
pejrhaps wiih the same train of thoughts, though proba- 
bly enjoying in silepoe &t> momentary triumph. 



CHAPTER II. 



He for his bleeding cduntry prays to bea^ea, 

Prays, that the men of blood themselves may be forgiven. 

CAM^BSLJb. 

Burton, who, till then, had kept himself unobserved, 
so longer able to refrain, stepped to a more conspicu^ 
ous place, and addressing the company — "Friends," 
said he, with a calm countenance, though an agitated 
voice, " Is this the termination of our long peace with 
our brethren of the woods ? Shall we here also see the 
blood of men shed by men f Are not the lives of our 
fellow creatures of sufficient value, to induce us to seek 
all means.to restore peace, by persuasion and meekness ? 
Think on it ; these men, whom you pursue, have been 
accustomed, till lately, to look on you as friends, and to 
treat you as friends ; granting that they have committed \ 
injustice, remember their ignorance and their custom, 
which is to seek redress only by retaliation. It is our 
duty to teach them other ways, not to slay them." ^ 

" That honey-flowered language is no more in sea- 
son, my dear Sir," replied Tom Short, who had not 
suffered the bloody deed of Rogers to weigh long upon 
bis mind. *' Such silly meekness as you recommend 
towards your red brethren, has cost us many a white 
man's life, and many a fat pig's liberty ; as you may 
judge from our friend Conrad's misfortune, who, with 
as conciliatory a disposition as could be found in this 
wide world, has been robbed of all his gear and cattle, 
and would have lost his life in the fray, bad his cellar* , 
door been constructed of less resisting materials," 

" Friend," replied Burton, " at thy age, I might 
have thought and spoken like thee ; but nov/ that wy 
eyes are open lo a clearer light, 1 have enlisted under 
the banners of the ' Prince of peace,' and hope, firmly 
hope, not only to follow his divine commands myself, 
2* 



18 

but to turn many wandering feet into the *wajr of 
righteousness.' Look upon these hands of mine ; see 
this bald head, bald indeed by age and care, but un- 
touched by the scalping knife. These limbs have been, 
for thirty years^ exposed to the mercy of those men, 
whom ye imagine to be so bloody ; not a scar, not a 
blow, can indicate their rage." 

" We are not all Quakers, unfortunately," interrupt- 
^ ed Tom Short, with a twist of his mouth, " we are not 
all gifted with a square coat and a broad-brimmed hat, 
that will still the Indians as quickly as the tail of a span- 
iel ^f^ill petrify the pheasant on the bough. We have 
learned by experience that these friend^ of yours can 
; inflict a sound blow, and leave many a scar, to testify 
^ their amity, as well as spoil our stables of their in- 
habitants." 

" These depredations, I repeat," said Burton, '* are 
but the natural consequences of the injuries they have 
suffered. Not being able to express their wrongs, nor 
[ to obtain redress, they have had recourse to their usual 
mode of revenge. Far be it from me, however, to ex- 
cuse cruelty in them ; I wish thee only to bear in mind 
their customs. I am assured we may correct their 
errors, and avoid the effusion of blood." 

" Not unless we all turn Quakers," replied Tom 
"^^^ Short ; for your heathenish allies never seem to mind' 
much the admonitions of a man, who does not wear a 
bead-piece, in the shape of a handleless frying-pan." 

" In this thou art likewise deluded by wicked ones," 

said Burton. * All men may obtain their confidence, 

provided truth be their guide ; but the natives nd^ 

must mistrust the cruel robbers, whose main object 

seems to be the destruction of their unhappy race ; 

jcease to oppress them, and they will again extend to 

us a friendly hand. Remember Him, who has said, 

-* the voice of thy brother's blood crietb to me from the 

aground;' for whatever thou may est imagine, those 

-^swarthy savages are thy brothers, descended from the 



1« 

same commoD parent, beirs of the same ' glorious in* - 
heritance.' Cease to murder their unoffending babes 
and wives, and you will receive from them the wampum ~^ 
of peace, instead of the bloody scalps, which now float 
exultingly in the air, to record in the forests the barba* 
rous necessity^ to which our aggressions have now re^ 
duced our helpless brethren of the woods.'' 
• Rogers, who from the moment Burton had raised 
his voice, had fixed his nearest eye upon him, turned 
bis head first, then an elbow, then raised one leg, and 
afterwards the other, and at last etood frDixting the un-* 
dismayed Quaker. His countenance, incapable of 
expressing aught but villany, was unmoved ; but the 
accelerated motion of hi^ lips seemed to bode the ap- 
proach of a storm, — the effect of the passions, whlcft 
ever ruled in the breast of the rdffian. 

'*Are you very positive, sir Quaker,'' said he, 
"when you assert that they are wicked ones, who wisbi 
the extiinction of the set of red dogsf And are you not-" 
aware, there are many men on this floor, who have such 
a plan in iheir brains, and who stand^ ready, to crack 
the skull of those who meddle too far in their con* 



cerns 



?" 



" Though our practice is to address men by the name 
of friend," said Burton, '* I cannot use our wonted 
language with thee. Thy threats to me, are neither 
tlie cause of aversion, nor of fear ; but thy bloody 
purpose, thy hands^ more than once I fear, stained with*^ 
innocent blood must be checked, if human persuasion^ 
if unshaken perseverance have any avail on thee. Yet, 
BOi alone in human powers do I place my trust. I rely 
on the blessed promise of Uira, who saith unto man,-— 
^ My strength shall be made perfect in thy weakness,' 
and he will not leave his woii imperfect. Think on it ; 
the blood still clotted on thy hand, once flowed in the 
veins, and obeyed the beatings of a heart like ours. 
The prayers of the depaiting spirit rose as high, perhaps ^ 
higher thati ours, at the throne of the Most High; for 
thy victim had a louder claim in his ear." 



•20 

* 

r " I have one claim in this warld," cried Rogers, " I 
claim the right of shooting down every brute on the 
mountain top, as well as in the swamp, where the rattle- 
snake beats my drum, and teaches me to make no dis- 
tinction between red an4 white, when they stand in my 

^way." 

" Not so, not so," exclaimed Burton, " thou art not 
speaking the language of thy heart, or thou hast indeed 
been fed upon the venom of the snake, that bites with- 

I out provocation. But tell me, unhappy man, tell me 

' what are the wrongs, which thou hast suffered ; for I 
cannot suppose thy enmity arose without a cause." 

" My very koot and fenerable friend," ejaculated 
Conrad, " your chudgement will tell you at once, how 
this shentleman and hundred others, who hafe bad teal- 
ings with the Indians fbr many years, come to hate that 
race of salvages; when you shall comprehend, my 
charitable sir, how I, a sergeant in kreat king Freder- 
ick's army, that was, hafe already suffered efery sort of 
iotignity from these fillains, my penefolent friend. All 
my pigs, my koats, and our mare, and my plankets, and 
all have gone away, stohlen by the thieves." 

" Such loss is great indeed, my friend," said Burton ; 
*' dnd I repeat it, I wish not to countenance their 
plunder, but intreat thee to defer thy revenge, till thou 
hast obtained means to explain thy innocence of the 
vexation exercised over them. I am now the bearer 
of messages likely to promote the restoration of har- 
mony between the natives and the whites. I beg of you 
alljbrothers, be humane, be christians ; or if you con- 
tinue in your designs, be but slow in your preparations 
for vengeance ; and in the meanwhile we may find 
measures, to unravel and dispel the error, which would 
lead those deluded men to certain destruction, if the 
execution of justice on our side devolve on murderers, 
who think it no violation of the divine or human laws to 
slay the unsuspecting and unprotected being, exposed to 

»^ their undiscrirainating passions." 



21 

'''Hark ye, sir," cried Rogers, stamping one foot oa 
the ground, '^ if you have a mind to3pend a quiet nightj 
let me advise you to he xnunu We need no sermoo 
here. If you want tractable hearers, go back to the 
lazy town of brother Penn, where you'll preach your 
cowardly doictrioes to the easy-chaired, capon*fed 
friends of yours ; but if you move again those jaws 
fitted only for. the. grinding of fat geese's back-bones, I 
swear, I'll unfit them to serve as any thing but Samp* 
spn's war-club." 

" My mission is for peace," said Burton ; *' my la- 
bours, my hopes, my life, are devoted to tbis great 
object ; and thoju wilt learn that nothing human can alter 
my design, or arrest my endeavours. A Quaker wiQ 
indeed obey the divine law that i[arbids strife an^l blood- 
shed ; bui kuow that in his breast beats a heart, which 
c^anaot quail when his duty commands. He remen)b«r$ 
the injunction given to the prophet of old, ' fear ye not 
the reproaches of men, neither be afraid of their revil- 
isgs.' Now load me with, outrages, mock my languagei» 
deride the shape of my garment and the ^rm of mj 
hat } but apar e thy enemies, spare tlie innocent bloody 
cease to mutilate thy fellofr-creatures, and to wave i« 
triumph the . scalp fk the i^eak, uno&nding tenants of 
the forests." 

. Rogers^ who, during this dbcpurse had gradually 
drawn nearer to Burton, no longer ,able to restrain bis 
r^ge^ sei;ied him by the collar ; and clienching his other 
hand before his face, after giving vent to sonie inarticu- 
la,te sounds, uttered these words, intersected with im^ 
precations which we think preferable to omit. 

" So you are determined to have me stop the passage 
of your cursed sermon, aye f D'ye think you are 
preaching to a pack of your monkish slaves of ease and 
plenty ? Out with ye, meddling old fool. I'll have ye 
clear from our presence, and every Quaker that'll dare 
raise his gabble above common whisper. And do ye 
nind this well, you fattened epicure, I never in my Ur<^ 



22 

i^epeated a threat that I did not execute, soon or late ; 
so beware how you talk ; and if another word on this 

matter passes your d d lips — 

At this moment a voice proceeding from the door 
just then opened, interrupted the menaces of the villain, 
who was not a little astonished to find in the Quaker's 

* bodily strength an unexpected and effeclUal resistance. 

" Rogers," cried the new interlocutor, in a tone of 

commanding objurgation, ''' what means this tumult, and 

how dare you renew confusion and strife, when you 

^ stand already charged with heinous aggressions, and 
repeated offences? Stand back, before me, and remove 
those hands, that minister your unmanly violence ; and 
if you offer the least offence to this unarmed and aged 
man, I will compel you to respect the laws of humanity, 
and the commands of your superiors. How is this ; 
my venerable friend Burton here ! and doomed to con- 
tend with the brutality of that wretch ? My dear sir, I 
ihank foitune for the heart-felt pleasure I experience, 
in meeting so opportunely with my respected and be- 
loved father. But how came you in this secluded spot, 
And how could so true a model of philantBropy excite 

^the choler of that blood-hdtind f" 

Rogers, who had mechanically obeyed the order of 
his commander, and passively abandoned his grasp on 
Burton's collar, for a moment, seemed on the point of 
Stepping forward in open mutiny ; but a stern glance 
from his young but intrepid captain, repressed his au- 
daciousness, and he sunk back upon his former seat, 
content with muttering in a low, snarling voice, the in- 
distinct murmur of a growling cur, silenced by the lash 
of his master. 

Burton had not, for an instant, shown the slightest 
agitation on his face, or in his voice. Impassive as the 
marble form chiselled out by the artist with the features 
of a superior being, the serenity of his brow had very 
nearly abashed the undaunted malice of his opponent, 

*' He now CLXtended his hand to his young liberator, witk 



S3 

a smile of satisfaction ; not from a sense of relief ia 
bis danger, l^ut with a hope, that in bis adopted pupil, 
be might find a heart open to humanity, and an ear that 
iQigbt listen to the stifled shrieks of suffering innocence. 

^ Truly glad am I likewise, to find thee, friend Liv 
ingstop," he replied ; '^ and I do indeed rejoice lo learn 
that thou commandest here ; . for 1 have known thee to 
cherish humanity, and to follow the dictates of virtue ; 
and though, for thy own sake, in any other case I might 
grieve at finding thee engaged in war, yet my hopes are 
revived now, that 1 meet again with one ever ready to 
listen to the tale of woe, and to the imploring voice of 
the oppressed." 

** My dear father," replied the young captain ; " for 
so I have been wofit to call you, and I cannot give up 
such right as long as you encourage it, you see I have 
not grown mucli wiser. You may recollect those grave 
conversations I had with you, by the fire side, when I 
would join in your precepts of peace and love to men 5 
and talk like Socrates himself upon the rules of conduct 
that a young man ought to adopt. But you may also 
remember how hard it was for me to follow my own 
principles, and how often tlie ardour, or the impatience 
of youth spoiled the result of my cogitations, and baffled 
my best resolutions. With the same apparent inconsist- 
ency in my conduct, I have declaimed and preached 
against this war wit!) all the eloquence I could muster, 
until, finding my efibrts unavailing, and secretly incited 
by a little vanity, and a certain love of glory inherent in 
my blood, I have accepted this appointment ; hoping 
that I may be able to repress the aggressors, and in the 
mean while to prevent ungenerous revenge, and the 
aseless effusion of blood. But of this more anon. If 
you are willing to share my apartments. Twill feel hap- 
py to introduce you into my quarters, which I have 
located in no meaner place than the barn ; and in the 
hay-loft, I promise you, if not an elegant bed-room, at 
least a warm one, and a heartily welpome reception.*' 



24 

TSpon the assent of Burton to that grateful proposition, 
the young commander, after having given his various 
orders around, took his old friend by the arm, and pro- 
ceeded through a dark covered way, employed as a^ 
wood-house, and leading to the spacious barn, where 
the captain had fixed his temporary residence. In the 
mean while many of the little » band were retiring in 
different quarters, seeking for shelter where they might 
J^epose for the night their weary limbs. As Burton^ 
with his friendly leader, was groping forward, amidst 
the scattered wrecks of huge trees, brought there to be 
used as fuel for ilie approaching winter, he heard behind 
him the steps of one, who seemed to follow him closely ; 
but though he turned several times towards the intruder, 
be bad not been able to distinguish the person, who 
each time sunk back into the obscurity of the place. 
Just before emerging from this dark passage, b^ felt a 
hand pressing upon his shoulder ; and a voice evidently 
assuming unnatural tones, whispered in his ear, " He- 
member Mount Hope*^^ — Burton startling at the words,* 
^tifd'the action of the mysterious stranger, endeavoured 
fa V«ih to seize his hand, and to observe his person ; 
bur the unknown instantly Tetired in the dark maze ; 
«ind not the slightest noise could indicate his presence, or 
even his departure. 

" Now with this bright moonlight," said Livingston, 
who had not observed the circumstance, " we shall reach 
our lodgings with less danger and more speed. There 
you will find mote comfort, I trust, than among the 
boors, whom I have so suddenly deprived of your com- 
pany. Really no words can express my joy at finding 
you at such a time and such a place as this ; for though 
you have not the leisure as yet to answer my questions 
regarding your presence here, yet I infer from some 
of your words, and from your constant love of mankind, 
that you hasten to this neighbourhood, with a view to 
serve as a mediator between the natives and our incens-> 
ed countrymen ; and now more than ever, do I need 



25 

your advice. But I do not intend to make you fiilk 
before you have somewhat rested yourself, and partften 
of my supper. This will be our home for ^At* night/* 

Saying this, he ushered Burton into a spacious barn, 
where he had found means to prepare an excellent 
shelter and luxurious beds of hay ; at least, if we com- 
pare such lodging with the casualty of speeding the 
night in the chilly wilderness. Two mangers, removed 
from their usual place; served, the one as a French 
bedstead, lined with the luxurious hay, the other turned 
upside down, was converted into a sofa, of rather antiquat- 
ed form to be sure, for it wanted legs, and arms, and a 
back to complete the resemblance, but quite comfortable 
withaL A large lantern, furnished with isinglass, hung 
from two large beams, by means of a swinging rope, which 
attached there, peradventure^ by the swarming urchins of 
the grange, for a different purpose, gave, now, with the 
addition of the hanging light in the centre, a tolerably 
good representation of those vacillating lanterns, which 
illuminate the streets and splendid avenues of Paris. 

On a temporary stand, erected there for a table, be- 
tween the bed and the sofa, an ample supper. had been 
laid, by the provident hand of the young captain. The 
rural meal consisted of a large ham, smoked beef, and 
an ample dish of the mess, called in Pennsylvania 
inush-and-milk. A large flagon of new cider, com- 
pleted the prepared repast. 

The aspect of this temporary abode had in it some- 
thing truly original. The presence of a young man of 
a strikingly prepossessing countenance, with manners 
highly refined, in company with a plab and venerable 
Quaker, in themselves a contrast, contrasted still mora 
with the few objefcts visible in the vast room, limited 
around by the dubiousness of obscurity, made more 
dubious by the wavering light swinging over the heads 
of the two friends. When once seated, Livingston in- 
treated his aged guest to partake of his repast. 

" I wish it were in my power," said he, with a smile, 
3 



26 

" to treat you witii one of the family suppers, which my 
uDcle used, every Thursday, to give to his American 
friends. It might be hotter supplied with the delicacies 
which London can afford ; but on the whole, I doubt 
whether you would prefer it to this ; for I know your 
temperance, and am convinced that your heart is too 
intent on your darling project of restoring general 
peace, to regard the difference between the luxuries of 
Old England and the privations of thes^e deserts.*— But 
how is this? You have not spoken a word since we left 
our rude companions. I trust that you do not suffer the 
treatment of that ungovernable brute, to weigh upon 
your mind. Before all, my dear father, permit me to 
offer you some refreshment ; and then I must obtain 
from you an account of your grief, that I may be en- 
abled to relieve you." 

" Of grief there is ample cause around me," replied 
Burton ; '^ and though private subjects of sorrow might 
indeed blend themselves in my mind with public 
calamities, to make this heart ache more sorely ; I assure 
thee, I am still the master of myself, and the pleadings 
in favour of our bleeding brethren are as loud, are 
louder, than the voice of my own sorrows." 

^' I entreat you," said Livingston, '^ to taste at least 
of the meal, I so opportunely prepared. You must be 
overcome with fatigue ; for I see that you travelled on 
foot ; and I fear your fare on the way must have been 
scanty, when any fare at all could be obtained." 

Burton's agitation of mind took away the appetite 
which his long walk had in reality created ; but avoiding 
to excite alarm in the bosom of his truly affectionate 
young friend, he sat down, and partook moderately of 
the repast, offered with such cordial entreaty. In trutby 
it had the desired effect ; for while he slightly relieved 
the wants of nature, he had leisure to collect himself so 
effectually, that his brow had recovered its accustomed 
serenity, before they had terminated their solitary meal. 

" Now-» my dear sir," said Livingston, " that you 



^7 

seem more Gl>mposed, will you not tell me the causa of 
your journey 5 or at least (for one, who knows you, can 
easily imagine that) will you so far continue to place 
confidence in me, as to say whether I can be of any 
use to you in your designs? " 

" The cause of this journey," replied Burton, " thou 
knowest indeed. Thy second question may be answered 
in few words* — ^To thee I need not repeat the divine 
command, ' Do no murder,' — and yet thou art the 
leader of a band, whose sole object seems to be to 
break that injunction* Now take not this as a reproach. 
1 have not always been a Quaker, thou knowest, and 
have experienced aU the passions of ardent youth; 
therefore I may well imagine thy feelings, and need no 
fond indulgence to think them niatural at thy .age. But> 
one word let me add, — are those enemies, whom thy 
band pursues, are they men like us ? Are they created ' 
by a meaner power than the author of our lives f Has 
the band that formed them impressed a baser stamp on^ 
their brow ? And the blood that flows from their soiled 
wounds, is it blood, forsooth, or the vain effusipn of 
useless fluid ? No. The inspiration of the Almighty hath 
given them undersUnding. They are shaped like us ; 
they are our image; they are our brothers, and hold erect 
a countenance that ^aks their noble thoughts and our 
shame." 

" You have lived among them," said Livingston, "and 
have made a study of their character ; I tlierefore 
would yield to your judgment. As to me, I candidly 
own, that the few individuals who fell under my obser- 
vation were debased and even vicious beings." 

" Debased," replied Burton, "I grant they were ; but ^ 
who debased them, but ourselves f Our vices they have 
adopted, whilst our virtues were withheld from them." - 

" This I often suspected," said Livingston, " but 
what remedy can we now employ for such eviisi They 
have been led to attack our peaceful farmers; they 
ba;ve laid waste whole cantons ; and heaps of reeking 



28 

Y~ ashes only can commemorate their preseoce, as well as 
the existence of their victims." 

'^ Remember," replied Burton, '^ that retaliation is the 
.only mode of redress which they have known, and re- 
flect, that had they received milder lessons from their 
fathers, their oppressed situation could admit of no 
other means to publish their wrongs." 

<^ But can we suffer our farmers to be robbed of 
their wealth and subsistence f Can we tolerate the mu- 
tilation and murder of our unsuspecting brothers, and 
make no effort to avenge repeated offences, or to arrest 
the threatened recurrence of such crimes f You must 
be aware, that, in spite of the friendly endeavours of 
• your society, the Indians have adopted, and more and 
more assume, the conduct of inveterate enemies towards 
^us." 

^' Because virtue is not practised by all men, or be- 
cause truth does not beam in the eyes of all our breth- 
j en, we surely ought not to lose our zeal to inculcate 
virtue and propagate truth." 

- ''' But when men will not follow the one, nor listen to 
the other, are we not justified at the bar of our con- 
sciences, if we compel those men to respect the rights 
of others, and at least render them incapable of doing 
evil ? And I know you judge too well of my princi* 
pies to think otherwise of my designs." 

" Such is their love of liberty, and their incapacity to 
t bear restraint," said Burton, ^^ that sooner than be taught 
by force, they will rush to certain destruction to the 
last." 

** Even allowing that this should be the fatal end of 
the war," said Livingston, "you must acknowledge 
that, in the alternative, we have the better right to let 
vengeance fall on the aggressor rather than ruin on the 
innocent." 

" Nq, my young friend," said Burton, ** revenge and 
rujn may both be avoided yet ; and I trust Heaven will 
grant that our efforts may not be vain ; were it not for tbo 



29 

ddfigerous instigations of the Canadiatis, long ago our- 
mediation would have met with success. Our brothers, 
have now redoubled their exertions ; no labour, no 
expense, have been spared ; and oren now, I am 
Ae bearer of letters to several of our friends at Easton, 
which will induce many, idle ere now in the great 
cause, to unite with us in this critical moment. 1 am 
moreover empowered, as a mediator, to ofier on either 
»de all the reparations and explanations which human 
patience and good will can bestow. To my knowledge 
of the customs and language of the Indians, I owe that 
favour '9 and thou mayest believe, that all the energy 
which I possess shall be employed, to execute the dic- 
tates of my friends, as well as those of my own heart." 

" That you may be crowned with succes!3," said Liv- 
ingston, ^^ will be my oonsts^nt wish ; and I repeat to 
yoci the proffer of my assistance. As long as my duty 
permits, you may rely on the offer, which, you well 
know, is not made with the anticipation that it may be 
rejected. But I have now talked gravely longer than 
I ought. I fear, when expatiating upon the suggestions 
of wisdom, I might lay out for my own conduct such 
rules as my want of resolution or impatience might too 
soon lead me to violate. It is much easier, 1 daily 
bear, to speak of prudence and benevolence, than to cul- 
tivate with fruit those virtues. So I must be satisfied 
with striving, as I follow your path, to imitate your ex- 
ample ; for it seems probable that after delivering your 
messages, you may accompany our band." 

" Indeed it is my wish." replied Burton, " and thy 
being the commander of the company is another in- 
ducement for me to attend them, for I know thy heart 
s not corrupted by vicious passions or prejudices. In- 
which direction ddst thou intend to proceed ? " 

'^ It is impossible to say where we shall be at thb 
hour to-morrow," replied Livingston ; " for as we are 
in pursuit of the^same roving band, which has commit- 
ted depredation in this neighbourhood, we shall be led 
3* 



so 

on our way, solely by die informatioo which we shall 
obtain of them." 

^* Hast thou any certaio knowledge of the tribe to 
which they bebdg ? " said Burton. 

*^ They are supposed to be Mingoes by those who have 
sec^n them ; and 1 am the more inclined to think so^ that 
the only odier tribe to which they, by some, hare bees 
supposed to belong, is the Delaware nation ; and those 
Susquehanna Indians, governed by Tadeu$kundf have 
been and are still well disposed towards us." 

*' Thou mayest indeed rely on the fidelity of that 
tribe," said Burtooi *^ and on the constant friendship 
of Tadeuskufid, their king. Forsooth, the band eharg* 
ed with those crimes must be of the Mingoes, if suspi«- 
cion rest only on these two nations." 

" There is a belief in the country," said Livingston, 
*^ that soncie Canadian emissaries> accompany the band 
that we are- now chasing, and that their aim is to kindle 
a general war of the natives against the English ; and 
of that there can be little doubt, if these be Mingoes." 

<< Every thing thou hast said makes it a duty in me to 

follow thy party, immediately after I have seen our 

friends in Easton. I truly hope I may be the instru*- 

ment of reconciliation, or at least, the means of arrest- 

p ing farther bloodshed. As I understand the language 

I of both these nations, I may clear the mystery, and 

^ open the eyes of these blinded enemies of their.brothers, 

to that light which the darkness compreheodeth not." 

<^ If I obtain no farther information of these men," 
said Livingston, ^' my intention is to cross the river a few 
miles above this place, and proceed towards the Blue 
Mountains through the forests ; for we are assured that 
they have passed the Delaware this morning in that di- 
rection. This plan will favomr your wishes, as we shall 
pass near Easton." 

^' Again do I congratulate myself," replied Burton, 
** on meeting with thee here ; and shoic will be my sepa- 
ration from thy band, if teil and perseverance can ac- 



81 

complidi my wishes. I will now lie down wiili thee^ 
with more security ; and with my constaQt attendant, 
deep tru^ in the will of the Rtiler of all." 

Livingston then proceeded to the preparation of the 
common bed, which, in reality, required not the skill of 
an experienced chamber-maid. Over the manger were 
qpread two blankets, which he insisted on devoting to 
the covering of his venerable chum ; and, in the ample 
folds of a cloak, be prepared to compose his weary 
limbs to slumber. The unexpected comfort of the 
placet the sweet odour of the new hay which composed 
their bed and their pillow, joined to the recollection of 
the toih and dangers of die passing day were truly 
grateful to the two weary pilgrims; though we may 
venture to say, that sensation was more delightful to the 
younger traveller, who, less accustomed to fatigue, was 
not then annoyed by inquietude, or afflicted with re- 
pressed sorrow. To the experienced wanderer, whoiias 
often trod the stormy way, aad paced, in uncertain 
darkness, his solitary path, looking forward for the de- 
ceiving li^ht, where his lengthened journey may termi^ 
nate,— *to him, such a shelter will appear a charming 
abode, and recall to his breast a thousand scenes and 
sensations of pain and of pleasure. Burton was already 
lain down, and Livingston, with eyelids weighed down 
by fatigue, was on the point of extinguishing the light, 
when the voice of sergeant Fritz Conrad postponed for 
a time his anticipated rest. 

The respectful German bad partly opened the door, 
not farther however than was actually necessary to 
interpose his spherical head ; leaving the remaining 
_ part of his body in attendance behind the door. With 
' all the incommodiousness of such a utuation, he con- 
trived to intersect his discourse with several bows, visi- 
ble indeed to his audience, though to a person standing 
without, these salutations might have appeared more con- 
spicuous, with due altowance for the absence of bis 
head. 



82 

*' My fery noble captain," said he, " I cannot refrain 
from asking you a tousand pardons for this intrusion of 
mine ; I feel crieved at the pottom of my heart, if I 
hafe for one minute int^rupted your sbleep. My chu* 
ditious patron, you must hafe rekard for my coot te*^ 
signs, if you plame the 6c<ia8ion, that has let me pef(H« 
your respectful presence." 

^^Well, well, Conrad," replied Livingston, ^^ leave 
off compliments for the present ; i know the purity of 
your intentions, and provided they be expressed with 
brevity, you may rely upon my grantii^- the boon, if 
consistent with my views of propriety*" 

^' Without probriety, my prafe captain, I never would 
make a request. Just pefore the pattle of Brague, one 
tay only pefore, such a request kranted by my major — 
major Steinbach it was, and fery kreat warrier he was— 
such being, kranted, safed his life, my worthy captain. 
Do you put this in mind ; well, sir captain, we hat en- 
camped in the fillageof" 

" If this be the brevity which I have required of you, 
Conrad," said Livingston, " 1 must declare, without any 
farther preamble, that I cannot grant your request, for 
it would take me all night to hear the circumstances., * 
and results of the battle of Prague ; and I have neither 
the leisure nor the wish to hear you expatiate upon your 
transatlantic prowess." 

"The name of the fiUage," — continued Conrad. 
" Let the'village alone," cried Livingston, " and come 
to the point at once, if you have any wish to obtain my 
sanction." 

" My fery sensible and patient captain, the pattle of 
Brag," persisted the indefatigable Conrad. 

" Conrad, once for all, if you try my patience any 
longer, I must command you to close that door instantly, 
and respect our rest." 

^' Do but hear him with some patience ; and pardon 
bis prolixity, in favour of his intention, which may be 
good," whispered Burton to his young friend. 



^^ iTou wiH notice this, my fery patient captain, that 
in Sherraany we do- not^ — 

*' Always spare your words and the ears of your 
auditors," interrupted Livingston.—*** I know that.*— 
*^ But here, Conrad, I am not unwiUing to listen to your 
demand, but quite so, to standing here all night. So I 
will make this bargain with you ; and do you observe, 
I am not in jest, and will stand to my word. I know 
one single word from you^ to each of my questions, is aH 
that is necessary to explain your wish with perspicuity. 
Now I shall place my queries ; and remember 1 repeat 
it, that more than one word at a time from you wiH 
forc% me to turn you from the place where you stand*^ 
First, what is the main object of your request ?" 
^ "Shleep." 

^'Well! that's quite clear, and will, methtnksi be 
easily granted. — ^Where do you wish to sleep f " 

" Here.'' 

^^That again, is a reasonable request; provided, 
however, that you persist in your unwonted taciturnity. 
But let me ask you this, however,— have you no other 
resting place f " 

«No.» 

Here the contortions of Conrad's lips showed that the 
necessity under which he was to omit, ** my fery noble 
captain," or some such obsequious phrase, was a trying 
eflbrt to his fortitude. A low bow, however, made up 
for the deficiency of speech. 

*' Then, indeed," continued Livingston, ^' I can have 
no objection to grant your request, with the aforesaid 
proviso. — One more question yet, — How will you 
sleep f " 

« Soundly." ' 

" I mean, will you sleep in the hay, dressed as you 
are, having no" other covering ? " 

"Sentinel." . 

Conrad being conscious that the word alone did 
not sufficiently convey bis ifite&Uon, then performed ^ 



d4 

patitomime ; and with sundry expressive signs, intimated 
that his wish was to lay himself to sle^p against the 
door, so that his body might serve as a passive resistance 
to the intruder, who might chance to trespass within tiie 
apartment of bis beloved captain. 

Such attention, Livingston was willing to allow the 
harmless German to offer, as proceeding from pure dis« 
interestedness ; and he kindly repressed all marks of 
incredulity. He himself assisted the then silent Conrad 
in forming a comfortable bed of hay, on the appointed 
precinct of the commander's quarters. He then lay 
dowui and presently fell into a profound sleep. 

For Conrad, well knowing that a trespass against the 
rule to which his young commander had subjected him, 
might endanger his rest, he silently rolled himself in the 
vast sea of elastic hay, so kindly heaped there for the 
renovation of strength in his exhausted limbs ; and very 
soon, his sonorous snore indicated, in cadence, the ex- 
pirations from his lungs. 

Two or three hours had elapsed ; and to the bustle 
had succeeded a profound silence, interrupted only at 
intervals by the dying chirps of the cricket, still surviv- 
ing the first attacks of the frost. Burton slept not ; in 
vain had he endeavoured to compose the storm which 
bad ruffled his tranquillity. After turning himself several 
times, and assuming various positions in his couch, he 
raised his head, and reposed it on bis hand, waiting till 
nature should obtain the ascendency, and lull his senses 
in a grateful oblivion of his cares. As the numberless 
images which had passed that day, in a vivid succession, 
before his eyes, began to blend themselves into a more 
confused group, and were gradually dissolving in slum* 
bers, he suddenly heard, at the door,ta noise which 
seemed to proceed from the efforts, roa4^ by some one, 
to remove the obstacle laying in his wa^. For some 
time the responsive snore of the unmou|^< German, in- 
dicated each struggle merely by its prograwi^e loudness ; 
4)ut at last the intruder, increasing his effort, succeeded 



35 

in removing the vast heap of hay containing Conrad, who, 
unroused by this unconscious removal, would not probably 
have perceived the entrance of a new guest, had not this 
guest unfortunately, or rather fortunately, stumbled over 
the globular body of Fritz Conrad. His torpor could no 
longer stand against such repeated assaults. He awoke ; 
and finding on his throat the hand of one, whom he 
could with propriety suspect of evil designs, he began, 
with a yell, to retaliate upon the throat of the stranger ; 
then with his other hand freeing his own neck firom the 
unwelcome grasp, he contrived so to entangle his legs 
with those of the unknown enemy, as effectually to pre- 
clude his removing himself from the supine state, in 
which he had placed him, under his own bulk. In 
the mean while, his repeated cries and objurgations soon 
rouse'd'the whole neighbourhood; and Livingston, at 
first unable, in the obscurity, to offer any assistance to 
his useful sentinel, succeeded finally in striking a light ; 
by means of which, a strange spectacle was offered to 
his sight. In the maze of the subverted bed of 
Conrad, lay the rightful occupant of the hay over the 
body of another man, which he finally recognised to be 
that of ho meaner a personage than Rogers of the 
wilderness. 

Burton, who the 'first approached the scene of this 
unexpected struggle, drew nearer and nearer, and em- 
ployed both arguments and gentle force to part the an« 
tagonists. But Conrad for a long time could neither 
be made to listen to advice, nor to abandon the very firm 
hold which he had taken of his opponent. As we can- 
not fathom the heart of men, nor penetrate the motives 
aiid causes of their actions, we will not pretend to attri- 
bute the obstinate resistance of Conrad to real fortitude, 
or to an increase of assurance, given to him by the 
presence of persons, who, he was assured, were ready 
to lend him help and protection. Be this as it may, be 
held firm his grasp on Rogers' neck, and continued with 
volubility to ejaculate a shower of desultory sentencei^ 



36 

and invectliTQS, in English, blended with his vernacuku: 
language, pretty much in the following way. 

'^ Sacrament der tifle ! you murter me, you kreat 
tief ? Vacaftigi du hist einer bo$ewicht.-rMine souls, I 'U 
choak thee. Vat^you come here for, eh! take me \>y 
the throat, eh ! Och ! das ist nicht recht. Give mer 
my kreat sword. I 'II cut his ears and his nose« cqt o% 
Qut right off. Tunder blizzan ! Ich bin nicht einer 
schwine. I have kilt tree hundred and zanzig such a& 
thee in the pattle of Brag. Der himmel und die 
stemen ! " . ' . 

Livingston finding it utterly impossible to make the 
German listen to his commands, or to abandon bis hold 
upon Rogers, resolved to employ actual compulsion to part 
the two enraged warriors. It was with some difficulty that 
he succeeded in relievingf Rogers from Fritz Conrad's 
clutches ; and some time elapsed before he could obtain 
from either an explanation of this unusual fray ; for the 
profound sleep in which he had sunk, had not permitted 
him to hear the beginning of the contest, or its cause* 
At last, more from Burton's lips, than from the uncon- 
nected exclamations and bravadoes of Conrad, he ob- 
tained a partial account of the disturbance. 

" Rogers," demanded he, " tell us the cause of this, 
and what were your intentions, in presuming, at this 
hour of the night, to intrude in this plac.ei which you 
must have known to be occupied by me f " 

" To open a barn-door," said Rogers, " I never be** 
fore considered as an intrusion ; and if to wish to sleep 
be called an intrusion, I did intrude ; but though X knew 
nothing of your quarters being here, I should ssy, frorn. 
the presence of this fool here, other christians might, 
without sin, claim a share of your Honor's bed-chamber.*' 

*' If not yet known to you, you may be taught to kno\y 
my right to choose my inmates ; and of that, I shall 
take upon myself to inform you." 

" My fenerable captain," interrupted Conrad, who 
#began to reqoirer his senses, " with your worshipful pep- 



piission, I tedlare, and I tare say I am eonfinced, wkb 
tue respect to the feracity of this sbentleman, be 
knew'' — 

He^re Conrad wis arrested m bis speecb by two 
pauses, namdy^ a side ^aoce from the sterner eye of 
Rogers, and by the coinmaiidiBg to&es of tbe voice <^ 
bis captain. 

'' Tbe question is no longer, wbetber niy quarters be 
known to you ; it is the duty of you all to leara that. 
But let this be impressed inr your mind, that I command 
you, Rogers, to seek another place for your re^t ; and 
do you note this well, let not a word, not a wink testifjr 
au^t bttt instiuit cooipUanee with my orders, atid in the 
morn I shall farther inquire into your conduct, and de** 
vise means to compel you more effectually to obey." 

Rogers, still aweid by tb^ truly energetic expression»of 
bis young commander, bowed down his head ; and to the 
astonishment oi* Livingston himself, implicitly exeeuted^ 
though slowly, tbe directions of his captatir. When he 
had passed the door, however, he was heard to utter in 
a low, repressed accent, " ere long, we'll have others 
obey." But Livingston, aw»pe- of the seditious spirit 
then reigning in the province, was satisfied with the ex- 
ternal marks- of obedience given to him by the son of the 
wilderness, and preferred to liet his threat pass unnoticed, 
with the more prudence, as a two-^^fold interpretation 
might be given to Rogers' words. 

As to Conradj he was elated in the highest degree. ^ 
He bad shown actual firmness, if not of mind, at least 
of grasp, and was justifiable in thinking himself the 
preserver of his captain. He had indeed forgotten the 
injunction, wliich restricted his tongue ; and so great 
was his exultation, that, for a time, Livingston could not 
prevail on himself to deprive him of the isatisfaction 
wbicb he felt in uttering his ludicrous farrago on th^ 
prowess of the night. To a graver judge than Living- 
ston, the nranners and appearanceof the Cferman might , 
ftave seemed a tit subject of mirth; and Burton bimseK 
4 



S8 

eould n6t repress a tranrient soiile, n ben be befaeld fats 
grotesque figure, and his strange attitudes. 

CcNarad, stripped of his coat^ which be had used both 
as a pillow and as a mght*^ap, ^ood in tbe centre of the 
room, undivesled of bis huge boots, which by the by, 
looked twice as long as usual, owing to his costless 
state ; added to this, a forest of blades of bay, bristling 
from his bedy in every direction, gave a more original 
aspect to bis agitated figure. 

Had he been permitted to emit tbe transports with 
which be was moved, he probably would have enter- 
tained his hearers with an account of most of the cam<* 
pargns of Frederick the Great ; but Livingston, with 
gentle admonitions, ealculated to remind him of the 

E>ssibi1tty of a command, induced him at kst to resume 
s-bed and his taciturnity ; no bnger interrupted after 
a wbile, save by bis recovered snore ; and presently, tbe 
whole eamplay in undisturbed silence till the dawn of 
ibe neait morn* 



CHAPTER ni. 



Her raven hair, ha(f wreathed, descended, 
* And o'er her £%ce like shadows hiended, 

Half veUing charms of lairer hae 
Than ever foreet daughter knew. 
Such locks ne'er decked the desert child ; 
Ne'er bloomed cuoh cheeks In forest wi?d. 

QfiTWA. 

Early on the succeeding morrow, the preparations 
for the departure of tbe military party filled the neigh- 
bourhood with more than usual noise and bustle. No 
information on the direction taken by the bdians having 
been obtained, Livingston followed tbe course which he 
had designed to pursue ; and ordered his band towards a 



39 

place some miie» aboire, where, id case (hat m> boat or 
ferry could be found, tbey might find meaos to ford the 
ri7€^« The young, diougii prudent GOSkmander, after 
many inquiries on the bebavitiur and intentions of 
Rogers, in offering to intrude by eteahh in his lodgings^ 
concluded that .the action, in itself dubious, could nol 
authorise him to call him to account for it ; and he re* 
isolved to leave it unnoticed «nd unaecount«d for ; but 
determined, from that moment, to watch his motioii9 
with a Vigiiant eye, and to penetrate fcrther, if possible, 
into the gloomy des^ns of that singular and mysterioui 
man. i 

Rogers was known to have met wkh a gang of mur* 
derous enthusiasts, from Paiton and Donnegal, who 
have since played a part so , bloody in the history of 
those times. Incited, a» they pnetaoded, by religioi^ -i 
iospiratioBS, better styled heUish instigations, they had ' 
ptirposed, in thehr sanguinary delirium, to e&terminale 
from the earth the ill-fated heathen, who, once populous 
and hospitable, had extended a friendly hand to their 
powerless fathers. It was as notorious also, that Rogers, 
though he might borrow- tbeir language, could not be 
prompted by motives of religion or principle. 

His religion was to annihilate whatever might thwart - 
his existence ; his principle^ to &xiBt upon destruction. - - 
Such a man, not easily avoided, nor controlled, in those . 
unsettled times, was highly dangerous as an enemy, and 
might be more so as a friend. 

As soon as the band was assembled, Livingston having 
given the signal, tbey proceeded in their n>arch, through 
' the path or narrow road, seldom losing sight of the 
banks of the Delaware. 

Burton, who intended to attend the party on that day, 
until they should pass the river, had placed himself neajr 
his accidental protector, Conrad ; and, keeping pace 
with him, opened a conversation, from which he hoped 
to derive more information, than was supposed by Fritz 
himself, with all his stock of self-importance. 



40 

" It seems strange," said Burton, "that Rogers should, 
so late .at night, have sought among us for a sleeping 
place* I believe from some word& of thine, that thou 
hast some acquaintance with the man ; canst thou inform 
me of his life, and of his purposes, in this instance f 
His countebance, though strongly marked, is not knov^n 
to me ; and yet there is in me a certain feeihig towards 
him, that seems to intimate that he is not a total stranger 
to me." 

** My truly fenerable friend," replied Conrad, *' you 
have l^essed right ; I am the fery man that can tell you 
efery word about him. 1 know him, as I know this 
larch swQfd that was given me by our ilktstribus king, 
Frederick tlie Kreat, at the pattle of Brague." 

" Well," said Burton, " in the first place, tell me, i% 
Rogers his only name ?" 

" Ya Vohl ! tut, tut, tut," exclaimed Conrad, " that 
is the qdeslioil ;" and as he rolled his orbits alteroateij 
on both sides, he wrung significantly his rosy Jips-r* 
" that is the question, they all cajl him Roachers, pe*^ 
cause efery poty must hafe a name, you know, but I 
tare say there is not one of them that knows what I 
know." 

" Thou art then certain he has another name," said 
Burton ; " fear not to disclose so much to nie, and be- 
lieve my intentions are pure, and divested from any re- 
sientment for his conduct towards me. What is the 
name, pray ?" 

"What is the name ?" replied Conrad with a wink, 
"that is the question inteed ; but, my fery coot friend, 
you must well mind this ; I tid not say precisely he has * 
another name ; I only sait I knew every ting about 
him." 

" Thou thinkest he has not changed his name," said 
Burton ; " am I to understand it ^o ?" 

" Ach ! that is the question," said Conrad. " No 
poty knows him here; and you know, he may haCo 
another name ; why can he not ? eh !" 



41 

This last part of the German's speech wa^ delivered 
with such expressive signs of knowledge on that score, 
that Burton, who began to doubt whether Conrad knew 
much of Rogers, could not help persisting in the hopes, 
that he might obtain from him the information which he 
songht. 

"If thou knowest so much about him," replied Bur- 
ton, " why not disclose it to me — ^I have heard thee pro- 
test, thou hadst a dislike to the man ; now I declare I 
have no ill will towards him, nor any other, but it would 
be important to me to be acquainted with bis name ; if 
indeed he has another.*' 

**Pugh! another name? My chuditious friend, vat 
do you think he cares about shifting Roacher for Peter 
or Chack ? Don't you know such men that hafe their 
house in the woods, and their tinner in the air, can't 
care a snap apout their name ? So I don't see why 
Roacher would not suit him." 

** If thou art ignorant of that part of his history," said 
Burton, '* canst thou not tell me from what country he 
came ? 

** My coot friend," replied Conrad, " I am not ickno- 
rant of that part of his story, for I am fery sure he calls 
himself Roachers. Do you know 1 saw that name on his 
rifle ? So 1 am not icknorant, eh ! Apout his country, 
though, he tid not say much, but I can guess !" 

While he pronounced this last word with emphasis/ 
he roiled his eyes towards Rogers ; and perceiving him 
at a distance, apparently unconcerned with aught but 
his revolving quid, he thus proceeded in his discourse. 

" Since you wish so much to know that, I will tell you, 
pecaose you are ray friend, and a fery tiscreet shentle- 
man. Could you pelieve it f that Tom Short, as they rail 
him, who pretends to cut such sharp cboaks apout him, 
he and Roachers are posom friends. — ^Vat do ye think 
of that?" 

" It is Strange indeed, but does not inform me of his 
country or his history," said Burton. 
4* 



42 

" Aeh ! that is not all," replied Conrad, " that is not 
ally you must know," — ^and after looking again towards 
Rogers with earnestness, he continued : " you will learn^ 
my holiest friend, that I heard thetn both talking when 
they thought no soul was near ; and then ! then, I heard 
such languach. * In the first place, my coot father, diey 
spoke so of their friends in Donnegal and Paxton, as 
would chill my ploed in ray feins ; they went on, 

f saying it was not enough to testroy all the rjace of Ind* 
jans, but that it would not be thought amiss, if many 
a white man should be cleared out of their way ; and 
they spoke so of your respectable society of Quakers, 
(I pelieve you call yourself so, my estimable friend ;) 
you never heard the like. Now, withal, I have lost my 
gattle, and my coats, and all, by the hand of tfae^ plak* 

^ ed faced shentkmen ; I hafe seen war enough with our 
creat king Frederick, to know what it is, so I can't wish 
for that alone, to murter all the poor fellows." 

" Well spoken," replied Burton, who began to think 
better of Conrad, in spite of his great stories. ^'' Thy 
heart must be comforted with such thoughts ;^ whilst 
revenge and hatred would swell it sorely. But pray 
didst thou understand from their conversation, that there 
r is a settled plan among them, and that a conspiracy is 
formed against our brethren of the woods, and even 
against our paternal government ?" 

Conrad, with all bis propensity to mdgnify dnd ex- 
aggerate, had prudence enough to perceive that it 
• would be neither safe nor honest to construe a few 
words which he had heard, into a deep and mature de- 
sign in those men, to subvert the government of their 
country ; so be was forced to acknowledge that their 
words did not imply much more than the invectives of 
low, despised malcontents, whom he bad heard' exhale 
their gall in vague, mischievious threats. So Conrad 
returned to the subject of the son of the wilderness^- 
leaving aside his politics. ■* 

^* I told you," said he, ^' I knew a creat teal aboot 



43 

« 

Roftcherd. Now I bafe not sait half yet, would you 
peliefe it ? He is a Papist^,— *a siafe of Rome ; 1 canDOt-^ 
doubt it at all, at all. . Look at that ; it 's plain enough 
be would not wear such a thing, if he was not what 1 
tell you he is." 

Saying this, with a cautious glance around, he pulled 
out from his breeches pocket a string of glass beads with 
a brass cross in the centre, such as are worn by the 
cUldren in Roman Catholic countries. 

" That chaplet," continued Conrad, " tid truly fall 
from his neck, last night, as I was krappling with 
bim, and clutching his hairy throat." 

Burton, whose countenance, as his eyes caught a 
glimpse of the beads, might ha^e betrayed a sensible 
emotion, to a more scrutinising observer than Conrad, 
examined them some time ; and presently, having sub* 
doed. the slightest mark of coneern, he returned them 
to bis hands ; satisfied that the transitory emotion which 
had ruffled th& placidity of his brow, bad subsided, 
withbut attracting the notice of the undiscriminating 
German. 

" That string of beads,^' s^d Burton, " was indeed 
onee designed for, and perchance worn by a Roman 
Catholic ; but Rogers' having it about him does not 
imply that he is one. He may wear, it as a badge or 
testimony of some inhuman deed committed by him on 
his fellow creatu^s, or even with a design to exchange 
It for some more valuable article, with the unsuspicious 
Indian, ignorant of its value." 

The troop was now arrived at the place, where it 
was intended they should cross the Delaware. That 
circumstance put an end to tiie conversation, from which 
Burton no longer expected to derive useful or accurate 
iaformation. Livingston had preferred this route to any 
. other, mostly because the Indians whom be - pursued 
bad passed the water at that place ; and he might, as 
be followed their track, obtain surer informations ; and 
OFortake them before they had left the neighbourhood 
of Easton. 



44 

No boat was to be found on that side ; and it becanoe a 
subject of discussion to decide how they should acconri'' 
plish their object. The hear}'' fog, which at that season 
every morning fluctuates over the banks of a large river, 
was not yet dispelled by the rays of the auiunanal sun. 
The late shower had swelled the Delaware far higher 
than uisual ; and its then turbid waters bore, with rapidity, 
myriads of trees and logs, and the wrecks of the wilds 
through which the river winds its course. Though tbe 
flood was then sensibly subsiding, the aspect of the 
Delaware had something truly imposing and new to the 
eyes of an European. The moving forest of uprooted 
trees,- now steeping their lofty tops iti the waves, once 
shadowed by their towering branches, formed a specta- 
cle, rendered terrific by its resemblance with such 
scenes, as we are prone to pamt to our own imagination 
of a general flood, and a subversion of nature. On the 
peaceful banks, in the forest crowning its beetling 
rocks, all was still ; and the very leaves of the birch 
trees were hushed to silence in tbe fog ; whilst, on the 
rapid river, every thing was confusion and violence. 
Huge pines and old oaks, carried along by the stream, 
intermingled their limbs with knotty roots, now on a level 
with their proudest branches. 

In some places, the eddying waters accumulated 
heaps of floating trees, crowding together, and lifting 
their limbs in the air, as if an effort were made by 
the parent stem to raise once more its head to the sky. 
Here and there a single trunk, arrested in its course 
by some proj«t;ting rock, would stand alone, for a time, 
as a barrier against the rushing crowd of trees; and ar 
last, overpowered by the weight, give way, and sink 
once more under the moving pile. 

Some few adventurous men were seen up and down 
the stream, who, trusting their life to a frail canoe, made 
of a single hollowed tree, were striving, with long poles, 
armed with sharp hooks, to bring to the shore, such 
trees and logs as the greedy wave had stolen from the 



improvident forester. Thus engaged in the " dreadful 
trade," they provided their families with fuel and timber, 
saved from the rapid stream, at the risk of burying id 
the whirlpool their hopes with their lives 

For sometime tio means could be devised to convey 
the little army to the other bank of the Delaware ; and 
indeed, it seemed impossible for a number of /nen to 
pass it immediately. Livingston, however, shevring a 
knowledge of the country, hardly to be expected in so 
young a foreigner, bad given timelyorders, that the most 
experienced . boatsmen io the . band should instantly 
proceed to draw, and accumulate on the shore^ suck 
timber as could be easily constructed into a raft ; and 
in the meanwhile, he had sent to the nearest hoase for 
the necessary implements for a carpenter, one of hit 
men, who professed to. be capable of constructing a 
solid rait, in a few hours ; and the probability was, by 
the time the temporary frame should be 'perfected, that 
the violence of the current would subside ; and as the 
scream carried fewer impediments to cross it then, 
would offer less danger to the band* Such was his activity, 
that he soon saw the probability of his being able to 
accomplish his object in lesi^ than five hours. Burton 
had seldom left his side. 

*^ It is a matter of astonishment to me," said Livingston 
to him, ^ to look upon that river, with its army of clashing 
trees, and to reflect that these bold savages, whom we 
pursue, have dared to confront such danger before us« 
They are surely superior to us io some respects ; and 
I admire in them that fearless perseverance in their de- # 
signs, their constant support in those toils which their 
nature imposes upon them. Would, that such courage 
were now employed to a better purpose !" 

" I firmly trust," replied Burton, '* that thou mayest, 

ere long, have cause to extol the value of their restored 

. scnity. They are more constant in their friendship than 

in their hatred ; and ever willing to endure for their 

friends the toils and dangers which they now undergo." 



y^ 



46 

'*' I cannot help thinking," replied Livingston, ** that 
your benevolence to men, leads you somewhat to over- 
look their defects, and palliate their offences, with a hope 
that a reconciliation may take place ; and to such 
praiseworthy motives I could object but this, that the 
same love of mankind, which indubitably must extend 
to the red or white race, demands of us to protect our 
countrymen from the repeated aggressions of these un- 
I subdued savages, on whom I confess, I have been taught 
to look as slaves of a passion for revenge, which nothing 
can satiate or avert. But be assured of this, if youf 
society can bring them to acknowledge their fault, and 
subdue their hatred, I shall be one of the first to grant 
them my frieridsKp, with the esfeem which their intre- 
pidity has already extratited from tne." 

Saying this, he descended from the commanding ledge 
of rocks, on which he had stood ; and approached 
nearer to the river side, where he saw Conrad engaged 
in a deep conversation with a countryman of his, who 
had been empkiyed in collecting wood fnam the stream. 
With that foreigner, still wearing his long beard and bfft 
peculiar national dress, he seecned to converse in a verjf 
animated . manner, looking around with a conscious air 
of superiority over the rest, as he alone could commuiie 
intelligibly with him. With his two hands interposed 
within the waist'-band of his breeches, he stood talking 
with volubility, often interrupting his sentences with a 
broad laugh and a kndwing wink of the eye. 

Livingston, with some hope of obtaining information 
of the Indians, approached sufficiently near to heat 
their conversation, supposing that he might thus be ia« 
formed more speedily than if he had to interrogate the 
garrulous Fritz Conrad, and experience the unchecked 
Sow of his words ; but in this he was disappointed ; fat 
they spoke in Plat Deutsch, and his partial knowledge of 
the German language was of no avail to him, in endea* 
vouring lo understand that jargon. He had recourse, 
therefore, to such a compromise as that into which he 



\ 



47 

bad entered with Conrad the preceding eyenlog. By 
that noeans be learnt that the. Indians, awed by thenuoi* 
ber of armed men who bad collected there, had really 
found means to cross the river with their booty ; re- 
fraining from molesting the- inhabitants, though allowed 
to pass themselves unmolested. He moreover under* 
stood, that they manifested no haste in their movements, 
and proceeded slowly towards the gap where the Lehigh 
forces its way through the Blue Ridge, and according to 
the account of the German, they were still loitering on 
this side of that chain of mountains. 

The Delaware was visibly subsiding, and returned 
nearer to its usual limits ; the trees and logs appeared 
less numerous, less gigantic also, and every moment 
presented less danger and horror in the scene. In the 
meanwhile, tbe raft ivas constructed with rapidity, by 
means of the exertions of the band, who seemed in 
emulation to diisplay all their activity before their young 
commander. 

At last, in tbe afternoon, Livingsta having fitted out 
bis little fleet, embarked on the still dangerous waters 
of the Driaware. He prudently ordered bis men to 
ascend the stream for some distance, coasting^ as near 
tbe banks as possible, that he might not suffer from the 
deviation that must be produced by the drift of tbe 
river. When suflkiently distant from the place of their 
> departure^ he directed the raft to the opposite shore, 
placing every man at his post. As many as could row 
without producing confusion, had been supplied with 
oars, and proceeded in order, whilst at the upper* end 
stood other men with long poles set with hooks, not to 
attract logs and trees, but rattier to avert them from the 
raff, that it mjght not be impeded in its course. Thus, 
with less difficulty than one would anticipate from so dis- 
tarbed and singular a navigation, the presence of mind 
aod activity of Livingston were crowned with success ; 
aind- his band, wttbout any material accident landed at 
last on the opposite sido« Then directing his course 



Aifougb the forest, be parted, for & time, Irom Burton, 
uoi without regret ;. for he felt every moment a deepev 
interest io that veiierable man ; but he received from 
him the renewed assurance t^iat in a very short time 
Burton's presence and advice would be restored to 
him. 

Livingston, whom we are not unwilling to call the 
hero of our tale, was descisnded from a respectable and 
wealthy family from Eugland. Though early deprived 
pf his parents, he had received an accomplished educa-* 
tion, and having been seut to the Continent, by his d«^ 
tog uncle, at a very youthful age, his mind was happily 
formed, and adorned with useful and solid acquirements^ 
As he travelled in Europe, under the guidance of 4 
wise preceptor, and assisted by a purity of nature, he 
early gained experience, whilst he learned to cherish vir- 
tue. In France his na^nners were polished, his tast9 
improvfrd. In Italy he learned to reflect among tha 
venerable relicks of the power and arts of men of alj 
ages. In the fertile, though deserted plains of Spain, 
be understood the little value of gold. In Germany, iti 
Holland be received lessons of industry, and persjs^ 
verance. But in those various states, where the will of 
one supercedes the will of the whole, he soon imbibed 
a horror of tyranny, with a contempt of servility. With 
euch impressions, and a chivalrous ardour for enterprise,' 
be returned to his ^ native soil, but even there thought^ 
liberty shackled^ end mea deluded by prejudices of old. 
He turned his eyes towards America, and in that land 
saw •the home of that freedom which he panted to enjoy* 
From that ipoment, he formed the design of inhabiting 
those regions where men could breathe the same air 
with the eagle or the stag, and tread with uplifted beede 
the peaks of the mountain or the plains by the river^ 
unmolested in tlieir ehoiee. Aftec many entreaties, h# 
obtained the sanction of his uncle, who possessed a 
large estate and numerous tracts of land in the Pri>> 
vioce oC Petmsylvania, andt who ontcusted him with th# 
care of those possessions* 



49 

Liragstoa arrived at Philadelphia, recornraended to 
the particular care of Burton, in whom his uncle placed 
unbounded cohfiden<$e ; and after some n)OD(hs removed 
lo the country, where several circumstances combining 
with bis ovvn iodinatioa, mduced him ta accept the 
command of the company with which our readers ba¥e 
beeon^e somewhat acquainted. 

It was rather kite when they were enabled to proceed 
from the other bam^ ; but the sky was unclouded, the 
air was miid ; and as the nHXMi, nearly ^uU, would illu- 
mine* their way, Livingston pressed on thdir march 
that they mii^ht reach the. same »ight the vicinity - 
of the Bhie Mountains. From the moment they began 
to proceed through the forest, -"Rogers displayed a 
eonstant vigilance, which aston^bed the most expe- 
rienced. Sent as a scout in the vanguard of the little 
army, he hardly passed a tree or a bush unserutihized ; 
every thing far and near was noticed by his penetrating 
eye. His attention, however, was chiefly attached to the 
ground ; the slightest vestige was a subject of strict ex* 
acuination; a brdcen tvrig or a trampled leaf in his path 
excited his devoted investigation, and served as an in* - 
dication of the passage of Indians. From the least 
trace he drewinlerenees whkh he stored in his memory ; 
and from that science, botrowed in truth, from his vie- 
tims, he obtaihed a knowledge of the movements of the . ' 
enenay, which might appear supernatural to one ignorant 
of the life and arts oi^a son of .the forest. Thus by the^ 
kispection of seared leaves, where he perceived the 
inapression of a human foot, he could usually discover 
such signs as told the direction of the rover-s steps, the 
size^pf his foot,' wt^tber from male or female ; and 
by the recent, or partly effaced appeai^anceof such veis^ 
tige he asceftatned aeeurately the fifoe of their passage. 
Tb^ boughs whkh obstruclted bis way b&re signs nearlj^ 
as useful and decisive io his observatioiy. In a word, 
for a eo&iBiderable distance, he led the band in pursuit 



60 

of ibe Indians, with an assurance that he followed their 

track, step by step. 

I But as it became necessary to. wade through a small 

.■ creek that lay in their way, Rogers lost the track which 

;. be had so long piirsued. It seemed that the Indians, 

aware of the danger, had proceeded at least for sometinrte 

in the bed of the streain, so as to delude their pursuei^s 

in their search ; for as no traces could be distinguished 

on the stones, nor on the fine gravel that decked the 

banks of the rill, it was quite uncertain whether they 

bad ascended it, or whether they had preferred, as a 

deception, to follow the current in its descent. 

The party halted for a time ; and it became a subject 
of discussion, what direction should be followed in the 
pursuit of the fugitives. Livingston, who had with con- 
stant attention watcHed the actions of Rogers, called 
him, in his council of war, if so it can be cajled, and 
put several questions, designed to lead him to express 
his opinions with freedom. 

" Rogers," said he, ** yoti can tell the presence or 
absence of an Indian within a mile around you ; can't 
you now inform us of one thing, — that is, whether they 
are likely to have proceeded up or down the stream i '* 
"•The rivers and creeks in our woods run all down hill 
sir," replied Rogers ; " so I fancy, a fellow that wants 
to turn from a great river, would choose the uphill way." 
" For that very reason, tlrat the fellow would go 
up-hill, I should think it at least probable that the shrewd 
natives might think to avoid him by going down-hill for 
a time." 

" It is likely enough they would keep off the road 
that any body would naturally take f but they knqw that 
I am here, and they have cunning enough to avoid the 
course I should follow in the doubt, so I should think it 
as likely as not they may have gone the right way, 
thinking I shqpld look for them below." 

" You seem to have studied logick, Rogers," said 
Livingston ; ^' but the induction which you draw from 



their knowledge of your sagacity, is not conclusive; for 
allowing that you and they have" a knowledge of such 
Ruses de guerre^ on either side the same reasoning may 
be infinitely retorted.'* 

"I can't say they. or I have any rusty gear," said 
Rogers, " but I say this much, I can swear they went 
up the stream. They kdovv me, and I have given 
proofs I know them." 

" Now, it is evident," said Livingston to his counsel- 
lors, " that whether they turned their course up or down 
the river they could not intend to continue long to travel 
in so uncomfortable a mode ; and their only object being 
to deceive us, they mustTiave proceeded ultimately in the 
direction which they had first intended to pursue ; and 
the place I have strong reason to conjecture, must be 
the gap where the Lehigh forces its way through the 
Blue Mountains. I have therefore resolved to advance 
in haste towards that spot, that we may, if possible, an- 
ticipate their passage there." 

Saying this, he instantly gave the signal to march 
forward, preceding his men with a guide and Rogers, 
who silently acquiesced in the order of his commander. 
In the meanwhile the oldest pioneers in the band won- 
dered at the discernment and firmness of the young 
chief, and granted him gradually a greater degree of 
corifidence ; for though a foreigner, hitherto unused to the 
toils and arts of war, and a stranger to the wilds which 
they uow traversed, he seemed acquainted with the most 
minute particulars, and with the geography of the 
country around.. 

The twilight was then approaching, and the sun had 
already dived into an ocean of interminable forests, 
leaving behind as a mark of his presence, a scarlet 
zone blended with purple arid yellow shades, which 
shed from the inflamed horizon the last rays of a propi- 
tious light; whilst the sky, serene and cloudless, promis- 
ed to the benighted adventurer the repose of a calm 
and favourable night. After a while the light proceed- 
ing from the blush of heaven, as the glorious orb 



62 

retired to bis couch, having faded from it gorgeous hues 
into fainter aiid fainter shaded, there remained but a 
slight streak, which however long pointed out the west 
to the traveller. 

In the meanwhile as the band advanced over hills 
and dales, the moon illumed their pathless progress ; Bnd 
tiiey arrived at the appointed place as the queen of 
night had nearly reached . the zenhh of her course. 
There • they haUed, and beheld in their native glory the 
stupenduous works of time upon the acclivity of the 
mountain, carved out by the ever chafing waters of the 
Lehigh. The ahnost perpendicular sides of the old 
ridge were decked with the mubitudinous wrecks, oBca 
the venerable pillars of the mountain's pinnacle, now 
heaped in piles, almost erects that seemed to threaten 
the beholder with instant destruction* It seemed as if 
the lightest tread could give an impulse to the lowest 
rock, that might in a moment draw the impending ruins 
into the channel, and fill up forever the. precipitous bed 
of the stream ; and yet the wild briar, the creeping ivy, 
and the ancient moss testified by their presence that for 
years the same disorder, with the same quietness had 
reigned there undisturbed ; and that only could overcome 
the dread created by such terrific objects. The fearful 
Lehigh itself seemed to startle as it passed, and leaped 
with wilder rapidity when it freed itself from ihe terrific 
gates of its prison. 

The troop, observing the most profound silence, that 
their voices might not divulge their j)resence to the foe, 
prepared to rest, each in his own vvay» afier having*par- 
taken of provisions prepared without afire ; for a blaze 
also might betray them in their ambush. Livingston 
having investigated the grounds in every direction, 
placed sentinels in the most commanding stations, direct- 
ing them to stand, but to avoid movii^ as far as the 
chill of the night would permit. . In the meanwhile, 
determined himself to cast cflf th^ influence of slet'p^ 
he shrouded himself in the folds of his clqakj ^ud siw 



53 

perintended the silent encampAient of bis men. Present* 
ly, the icnmobility of their bodies, aqd tlie murmurs of 
their respirations told him that those hardy foresters, 
wearied by the toils of the passing day, had sunk in 
deep slumbers on their flinty pillow. 

As he observed the sentries in veatchful guard, strictly 
obeying his commands, he receded from the low and 
bbscnre hold where he had located bis troop, and fol- 
lowing a steep and winding path, which he had observed 
amidst the apparently inaccessible bed of scattered 
rocks, he ascended towards a huge peak, forming a part 
of pn unbroken ledge, which, projecting forward, almost 
surmounted the banks of the Lehigh, From that ele- 
tation, he hoped to spy the approach of the enemy, 
and to obtain a full view of the wild scenery around. 
After reaching that commanding spot, he stood, for 
a while, (confused and amazed. The moon poured its 
doubtful light upon such a variety of new objects as to 
produce the wildest scene to the eye, and create in the 
imagination a maze of crowded forms and gigantic 
phantoms; whilst the air was rent by the discordant sounds 
of the dashing waves below. Gradually, the reverie or 
dream created in Livingston's mind gave place to 
reflections of a solenm nature. He saw before him the 
eflPorts of nature in its unaltered sublimity. The ruins 
of Roman greatness, the solitary pyramids of Egypt 
might recall to the pride of man the glory of former 
ages, but on viewing the decaying remains of a maimed 
statue, or the broken columns of a deserted temple, one 
must sigh over the evanescence of human vanities and 
wishes ; whilst here, lay before his eyes the great work 
of nature alone, ivntouched by man, eternal in its sub« 
stance, and receiving its splendour from the slow band 
of time. On discovering the crumbling relicks of ancient 
pomp, he must be humbled, who finds in those regains 
the conviction of his littleness and the brevity of his 
exultation, but on beholding the majesty of the throne 
of nature he must be elevated, who reflects that he is 
6* 



54 

the lord of that sublime creation vvhich points out a 
noble elid assigned to his deeds, and eternity in that 
divine order of all things. 

Livingston had thought and gazed in a motionless at- 
titude, until his eyes, made dizzy with the sight, no 
longer perceived aught but soft shades, blended into a 
bluish cloud, and dancing in a fantastic order before 
bim. He might thus have remained till the next giorn, 
as if charmed by a tnagic spell, had he not caught a 
view of a new object, whose form and movements were 
too defined to be thought a mere delusion of his senses.. 
On another protruding rock, far above him, on the left, 
stood a female in the Indian attire. She had slowly 
advanced on the platform, and appeared engaged in 
deep contemplation over the scene below. How she 
had found access to a place, where it would seem no 
human foot might tread, Livingston could not even con- 
jecture. At such an hour, in such a scene, an apparition 
like this realised the dreams in which his fervid imagi- 
nation had oft indulged in days of romance. Though 
from his lowly station he could but imperfectly distin- 
guish her features, yet he saw enough of her command- 
ing figure, to excite curiosity and admiration. In the 
unadorned majesty of nature, she displayed to the un- 
observed witness of her movements, the pensive attitude 
of Pallas, musing over the tide of human passions. 
The light folds of her mantle partly veiled her noble 
form, whilst it served to display the graceful contour of 
•her arm. Her loose tresses, tossed by the breeze 
shrouded her breast, as if conscious of the gaze of hu- 
man eye, and as their tmdulations seemed to correspond 
with the emanations of her soul, thosa locks contended 
as it were, with the air, vibrating over the fearful pre- 
cipice. 

Livingston, Concealed by the shade, as well as by his 
sil0n«e and immobility, saw her wave her hand towards, 
the cliflT over the stream, but as he looked there, nothing 
was seen, save the accumulated ruins and the foaming^ 



55 ' 

spray below. Impatient to penetrate her design and to 
approach the mysterious female, he surveyed, but in 
vain, jhe inadcessible rocks above him ; but in this ex- 
amination his movements betrayed his presence to the 
object of his curiosity, and robbed him of her sight, for 
as soon as she had cast a look at her feet, she turned 
with the rapidity of a bird, and seizing a rope, probably 
attached to some solid support, but concealed behind 
another cliff, she disappeared in a moment, assisted in 
her perilous flight by the cord which alone sustained 
her above the precipitous banks of the Lehigh. 

Livingston, trembhng for her life, kept for a Jong time, 
his looks attached to the place where she had vanished 
from his eye, but nothing more was seen ; he listened with' 
an attentive ear, but nought was heard save the roarings 
of the stream. 

In the meanwhile the morn grew near, and as every 
attempt to reach her would have been vain, he resolved 
slowly to return where the safety of his men and his 
duty required his presence and his care. He found 
quietness and silence where his provident commands 
had established order and security ; and he impatiently 
waited for the return of another day. 



56 



CHAPTER IV. 



Then closed the fight with deeper yell, 
And ponderous clubs together tell, 
And, while the crash to crash succeeds, 
More deep the reeking battle bleeds, 
At last .the desperate struggle came. 
Of vigorous frame lock'd in with frame, — 
Then closed th». fierce and fatal grasp, 
That only broke with life's last gasp. 

Ohtwa. 

As the first rays of the sun were gilding the blue 
peaks of the ridge, Rogers, whose turn was come to 
wateh on the highest post, gave a signal which intimated 
that the enemy was near. Instantly, the whole troop 
sprung to their arms, and waited with intent ear and ready 
arm to meet the foe. In the meanwhile, Livingston 
ascended the ground where Rogers stood, cautiously 
avoiding being observed, lest his presence should inti- 
mate to the Indians the danger which awaited them ; 
for he had so placed his forces as, by their concealed 
situation, to allow the enemy to advance so far that be 
might surround them hi a narrow pass and cut off their 
retreat. He slowly reached Rogers' post, and inquired 
of him, in a low voice, how he had been informed of the 
approach or vicinity of the enemy. 
f ** The heathen dogs," answered Rogers, " are near 
us ; I can tell you that much, as though I saw them 
now ; but as to the way I came by that knowledge, let 
those who have ears and eyes think for themselves." 

" The noise of the rolling waters, and our greater 
proximity to the stream," replied Livingston, ^' must 
evidently preclude hearing arid seeing the movements of 
the enemy, which it is your duty to observe from this 
commanding station. Let me remind you, what shall 
not be repeated, that my commands are, you should in* 
stantly conimunicate to me when within hearing, the 
result of your observations upon this i^pot." 



57 

" My duty, then, as I take it, replied Rogers, " is to 
tell you, that I have heard a rifle fired, that I saw 
the smoke of it, that the Jl)all whistled not far from my ear, 
and that I know as certain as I live the rifle was loaded 
by an Indian. They never put half so much powder in 
their pieces as we do." 

It may not be amiss in this place to explain why 
Rogers submissively subdued his snarling disposition, 
when urged by his young commander, and particularly 
in this case. Long known to the Indians by bis mur- ? 
derous deeds, he was the object of universal hatred 
among the sons of the forest. He was fully a^are of 
their intention to wreak on him their pardonable re- 
venge ; and felt it safer to stoop to obey, and ingratjate 
himself thus, as far as possible, with those who 
might lend him assistance in danger. In proportion, 
therefore, as he tipproached his enemies in arms, he 
mitigated the asperity of his manners with his r sociates ; 
somewhat with the same sensation probably that tames 
the panther or the wolf, when entrapped in the pit 
where an unsuspecting traveller has previously been 
decoyed. * 

Livingston, assured that the enemy, or at least that 
Indians were near, looked in every direction towards 
the plain, but perceived no mark of their approach. He 
noted, liowever, with astonisbtaent that Rogers' keen 
eye was not turned to the dale below. He cast frequent 
looks towards the winding chasm above, and seemed to 
anticipate the appearance of the Indians from the mazy 
path leading through the broken .sides of the mountain. 

'* Do you think it possible," said he to Rogers, 
" that the Indians could have preceded us ? and if they 
have, is it likely they would expose themselves to re- 
urn ; knowing we are in search of* them ? " 

" Whether they have gone before us, and whether 
they would think it safe to return, I canY exactly tell," 
said Rogers ; " but so niuch is plain enough ; the ball 
that whizzed by my face came froi;n that way ; and 



68 

something plainer still is, that I now see them gliding 
one by one alongside the bank of the river." 

Saying this, he pointed out to Livingston some natives, 
armed with rifles and' muskets, who seemed to advance 
with the caution of men who expect to meet with an 
attack. In a moment the young commander travelled 
the space which separated him from his men, with the 
greater rapidity, as, a few feet below, his progress was 
concealed from the Indians, by the steep banks of the 
stream ; for they were proceeding as near the water's 
edge as their safety permitted. Livingston, as he pre- 
pared his band for fight, gave strict orders that they 
should wait for his signal to engage, as be was not fully 
convinced that "those were the party which be sought. 
It was prudent, however, to neglect nothing in his arrage- 
ment which mfght cause the attack to fail. He therefore 
placed his men in such a situation as to preclude the 
possibility of their escaping, if Rogers' conjectures proved 
correct; and' waited till the whole band should have 
passed, to show himself, with the main body of bis troop, 
whilst fifteen of his best riflemen despatched to defend 
the passage below, were pointing their loaded arms to 
the only path which could be taken by the natives. 

At the moment when Livingston intended to advance 
and ascertain .whether friends or enemies were in his 
power, a rifle was discharged by one of his men ; but 
by whom was never known, as it proceeded from a 
thick bush surrounded by rocks apparently inaccessible 
to the witnesses of the deed. With a simultaneous 
impulse they all rushed forwards, and beheld a sad 
spectacle. A miserable Indian, shot through his breast 
by the ball, bad been hurled headlong into the rolling 
waves of the Lehigh, and dyed with his blood the foam 
and waters of the current stream that washed his body 
swiftly away. On the narrow path below stood his 
companions, struck with terror and rage, looking for the 
perpetrator of the bloody act. On seeing Livingston 
and bis band, they uttered a horrible yell ; and prepareil 



69 

to revenge the death of their associate. In a moment 
their arms were aimed, and one in his fury discharged 
his piece and prostrated a forester at his feet. This 
was the signal Jor a general engagement ; for when the 
party detached to guard the pass below witnessed the 
fall of one of their friends, they instantly fired their 
pointed rifles, and scattered death and terror among the 
unprepared Indians. Some, killed on the spot, fell into 
the stream ; others, wounded, and seeing their own 
blood gushing, indignantly resolved as long as the rest 
should swell their heart, to seek vengeance with their • 
arms. The narrowness of the spot in which they were 
inclosed^ and the apparent impossibility of "escape, 
suggested to their despair, as if from a common impulse, 
to climb the precipice, and confront their aggressors ; 
willing, hand to hand, to brave certain death, rather than 
beg for life unrt^venged. In the meanwhile, some of 
the whites, either ashamed to overpower helpless vic- 
tims, or impatient to accomplish the deed, descended 
midway among the scattered rocks, and offered to con- 
tend wiih sword and axe. 

Then was seen a sight of confusion and bloodshed 
The clashing of the tomahawk and the incessant whoop, 
of the savagies raised loud peals, that seemed to silence 
the murmurs of the afrighted Lehigh, whilst these 
sounds, with the repeated discharge of the rifles, re- 
sounding in the chasm, started afar off the panther and 
its prey. 

Livingston, who in vain would have attempted to ar- 
rest the torrent of war in its course, while he became 
convinced that these were not his enemies, found it ne- 
cessary to defend his own life, and to protect his com- 
panions in arms. His growing admiration for the courage 
of the sons of the forest was raised to its height on 
beholding the deeds of those men. One above all the 
rest had fixed his attention from the first ; his herculean 
stature and noble bearing were rendered more impres- 
sive by bis movements, calculated to remind one of the 



60 

fabiilbus times of yore ; when TheseiMJ or his patron, 
Alcides, swept tyrants and monsters from the face of 
the world, leaving eternal theme for bardfi^ of future 
ages. Many had fallen under his blows, and from rock 
to rock he ascended, prostrating whatever impeded bis 
course. 

The ill-fated Tom Short, who had presumed in bis 
littleness to attack bim, had met with his end under the 
band of the wild hero, who, after scjilpiug the poor 
wretch, raised him with one arm from the ground and 
tossed bis body into the ensanguined stream. Conrad, 
who had shown unexpected boldness, and possessed 
greater streni^rh, came near proving a more ^^ngerpus 
foe ; he actually thrust his sword with such force, that 
the interposed tomahawk could not protect the breast of 
its owner from a considerable wound ; and as the savage 
was raising his heavy weapon, Conrad, seeing the dan- 
ger, threw himself against him, and seized the legs of 
his antagonist, who. standing on the sharp point of a 
rock, could not move without running the risk of being 
precipitated from bis stand. In the meanwhile, Fritz, 
threatening him in unmingled High Dutch, gave him to 
understand, by means of expressive signs, that he would 
pull down his still unmoved enemy into the stream, if be 
attempted to raise once more his tomahawk over bis 
denuded bead. The savage, perhaps despising so 
strange a foe, made at last a sudden effort; and at 
once extricating himself from the German, he sprung 
forward and left him with an impulse, which caused the 
cylindrical Conrad to roll unhurt into the waters of the 
Lehigh. 

The Indian then continued to advance aiAidst a crowd 
of enemies, who, abashed by his audaci»y, recoiled before 
bim, with respect for his valour and admiration for a man 
on whose brow were impressed the noblest marks of re- 
gal sway. He had noted Livingston, whose athletic form 
and commanding looks, probably inspired Kim with the 
wiPh to contend with an enemy so worthy of his blows; and , 



61 

who seemed equally desirous to meet him hand to hand. 
Bat a wide and deep cleft in the rock separated the 
two heroes; and as JLivingston measured ^the distance 
with bis eye, be abandoned the thought of leaping over 
tbe gap, supposing it impossible for human power to 
perform such a feat of agility and strength. The royal 
sMjip of the woods, however, thought otherwise. After 
casting a piercing glance around, he drew back a few 
3teps, and rushing with the boldness of confidence, ac* 
tually reached the edge of the opposite rock. 

But it was ordained that his courageous action should 
prove nearly fatal to him. The edge on which he 
aligbtod, worn by ages of exposure to the vicissitudes of 
the air, gave way under his foot ; and he fell forward, 
while the crumbling rock continued to tumble piecemeal 
into the cleft, and left him' suspended on the brink of 
the precipice, which threatened to open wider and bury 
him in its folds. At that moment Rogers pressed for* 
ward, with the shades of hell obscuring his face. He 
cast a grim smile on the disabled enemy, whilst he 
aimed his never failing rifle. He was preparing to pull 
the fatal trigger ; a moment, a second more, and the 
dark pj^pose of his wrath was accomplished ; but Liv- 
ingston indignant, interposed in time, and his arm turn« 
ed off the pointed weapon, which, discharging itself, sent 
its contents into the tremulous waves. Rogers, gnashing ^ 
bis teeth with foaming rage, seemingly unconscious, at 
least unawed by tbe presence of his chief, attempted to 
persevere m his design of destruction ; but as he raised 
a tomahawk over the head, of the savage, Livingston 
seized him with a grasp, made overpowering by in- 
dignation, and hurled the frantic son of the wilderness 
far beneath, among the scattered ruins of the ridge. 
Then hastening to the assistance of his antagonist, he 
stretched out to him his hand, at the most imminent 
peril of his own life, and at the very moment when both 
must have sunk among the wrecks beneath. 

Th? chief (for his deeds^ and his gait bespoke him 
6 



62 

such) rose, and stood nvfh]\e eying Ws deliverer in si- 
lence. Then Livingston beheld the nfajesty of his 
attitudes, and of his brow, with increased admiration. 
He was a man of at least fifty, but with the vigour and 
agility of youth ; every nerve in his body seemed to 
have but just attained its perfection ; his limbs formed 
upon the noblest model, moved with the grace of youtkii 
and the firmness of maturity ; his expanded chest, on 
which his muscles were carved as it were by the chisel, 
recalled to Livingston's classic imagination the remains 
of the famous Torso of Hercules. On his dingy coun- 
tenance were impressed the dignity of a king, with the 
intrepidity of a hero. Straight black hair partly shadow- 
ing his forehead reached his dark eyes, which seemed to 
pierce the object on which they were fixed ; but while 
they spoke defiance to the foe, and deep seated revenge of 
wrongs, they spoke alike benevolence to the friend and 
eternal gratitude to the benefactor. His cheek-bone, 
usually too prominent among the natives, was sufficiently 
marked to give a stern cast to his countenance, but im- 
parted nothing barbarous to the expression of his face. 
The look which he fixed upon Livingston was so scrti- 
tinizing that his features must have been indelibly en- 
graven in his memory. But one solitary glance did be 
cast, however ; and as he terminated his survey, he 
grasped once more the hand that twice in a moment had 
parried off approaching death, and said in English, 
•' No cloud shall darken my eyes ; no storm shall turn 
my heart ; be strong." 

Then, with fixed, unalterable purpose, having- made 
a sign to his surviving companions, he turned to the 
stream ; and rushed with the rapidity of an arrow.into 
the brawling waters, which even to the intrepid Indian 
seemed to ofier but a ready grave. All his associates 
followed his example, accoimting it an enviable death 
that was sought by their chief. But where destruction 
appeared inevitable, there his penetrating eye had seen 
the possibility of escape. Contending with the rolling 



63 

waves, be guided hk men among the bristling rocks that 
paved the surface of the stream. Several times buried 
under the foaming spray, he continued to plough these 
waters with his powerful arms ; helping, encouraging, 
inspiring his men, be shewed them the opposite banic, 
and ^safety there. In the meanwhile the enraged forest-; 
ers, robbed of tlieir prey, sent a shower of balls upon 
tbeir escaping enemies ; but few effected their purpose ; i 
for owing to the bounding swiftness of the billows, the/ 
were prevented. from taking correct aim. Many of the 
fugitives, following their chief, had in reality attained 
the vicinity of the other bank ; but to ascend those steep 
rocks was impossible ; and as no landing place was seen, 
their destruction appeared inevitable. But a guardian 
angel was near, who gave to the amazed beholders a 
striking spectacle of ingenuity and presence of mind. 
A female, the same fair appai ition of the preceding 
night, showed herself on the brink of a ledge which 
towered over the stream. She proceeded from a cleft in 
the ridge which penetrated deeply among the dark recess* 
es of the mountain. In her hand she held a long coil of 
rope, with knots and short sticks for the grasp. Having 
secured it to the trunk of a pine, which chanced to 
grow in a crevice of the rock, she flung it far forward 
into.the waters, and in the twinkling of an eye succeeded 
in prep%ring another, the end of which she retained in 
her own hand. That one she threw with astonishing 
dexterity to the chiefs who caught it instantly, and in a 
moment ascended the cliff. It was indeed a touching 
eight ; a noble sight, to behold the female preserver of 
these men clasped in the arms of the hero, and in the 
inspired attitude of extacy, forming with him the centre 
of a group, where heroism and romance seemed united 
in their ideal purity. 

Some wretches, excited by the words and example 
of Rogers, continued to pour the contents of their artil- 
lery on these fugitives, but in vain. They were too far 
out of their reach, and their rage, as it vented itself in 



64 

impotent curses, was limited* in its effects to the satisfac** 
tion of pouring a rain of balls, which striking the sur* 
face of the water, or the crumbling sides of the cliff, 
filled the neighbourhood of that scene with a cloud of 
dust and spray, a confusion in beirmony with their 
hearts. Presently, however, the Indian family ttfVned 
to the cleft below ; and as they soon disappeared in the 
winding recesses of the ridge, the scene of horror 
closed, and the chasm ceased to resound with the peals 
of contest. 

Livingston for a tfme remained immoveable on th« 
cliff; and long after the* Indians had vanished from 
sight, he turned and turi^ed again his 'eye to the 
cleft, hoping that he might once more behold the now 
reigning dbject of bis curiosity and interest. His dreams 
of romance, his lofty ideas of heroism in their brightest 
colours, were now realised, and rushed in multitudes 
upon his mind. He was like the navigator in unknown 
seas, often deluded in his search, though ever attentive 
to the whispers of hqpe ; when, through the alhjring 
mist, or the deceiving shade, he notes the long wished 
sight of land, his most ardent desires ate fufiilled as he 
substantiates the fai^tastic figures forced by the ek>ud 
in the distant horizon. Thus Livingston's imaginative 
fancy was flattered ,at last with the most vivid encbaot^ 
ment of reality. ^ But j^ longer did the objecis of his 
rapture appear ; and the mprmurs of the noisy stream 
seemed then like ^silence to his ear, whilst his eyes 
ceased to find the sani^ charms in the deserted scenery 
afound. His first thought wh?n he awoke from bis re* 
verie, was to bestow his care and relief upon the still 
breathing victims of the day, and forbid farther outrage 
being committed on those, who no longer able to be the 
objects of fear, were now become the objects of his 
solicitude. As be had com[Jeted his benevolent purpose 
and was distributing his commands for the restoration of 
order, and to ensure better discipline, he perceived 
Conrad, who, a second MoseSi had been saved from the 



65 

wa^es ; not indeed by the fair band of a royal maid, 
bqt by means of his own dexterous exertions, greatly 
assisted by a natural propensity of his obese body to 
float. 

" My prafe capt^ain," ha cried, as soon as he came 
within hearing, " tid you efer see such fighting in your 
life ? Why, to tell you the truth, I had rather fight agam&t 
christians like you and L These Indians make no 
quarters I see ; and when they hold a man by the hair, 
I kess he must make his l^ayers short, if he has a mint 
to bray. Now at the paitle of Brague; it was on 
the sixth of May, one thousand seven hundred and 
fifty-seven, as you know as well as I, my noble cap- 
tain." 

" I think that may be the date," said Livingston ; 
** but before we hear you recount the deeds of that 
memorable day, permit me, my dear Conrad, to con- 

fratulate you upon your feats of valour on this day. 
)o you know you proved a dangerous enemy lo that 
stout Indian ? And indeed, tiad it not been for bis sudden 
impulse, it seemed possible you might have forced him 
to make his exit sooner than he wished. But I doubt, 
upon the whole, whether it would have been quite as 
safe for you to h«ve had him for » companion in your 
exercises of natation. Besides you have the unsullied 
gjory of having tried alone ihat low path to high glory. 
I mean your ascending unassisfed the lofty banks that 
were near proving inacce^eible to oujr active enemies." 
" You do me kreaf honour, my fery sensible captain," 
said Fritz ; *' but you must pear it in mind, I never pe- 
fore had a chance to fight in such a way, nor with such., 
Jions as these Indians. Mine soul ! If Fritz Conrad,J> 
who hat the honor to serve under the kreat Frederick, 
and to be kifted with this sword, by his machesty's own 
hands ; if Conrad, I say, was toomed this tay to bros- 
trate' himself to the feet of an heathhen, he calls the : 
heafen to witness, it was not from fear of death. But . 
I leafe rt to your own chuditious chudgendent, my prafe 
6* 



66 

r captain, could you reflect with cold ploot ob the itea of 
hafing your beautiful gurls scalped from your head. X 

, shutter, and roy ploot runs colt, when I think of the 
tanger I was in to be stripped of my fery inferior hairs 
to be sure when compared with youj;39 but equally use- 

^ ful to my humble heat." 

" I own the practice is not very conformable to our 
▼lews of seeing things," said Livingston ; *' and the idea 
of losing one's hair in so abrupt a manner, cannot be 
extremely inviting ; but you 4now we are animals of 
habit, and I doubt not but we may see you reconciled 
yet to that mode of warfare." 

" No, no, my kreat captain,*' said Conrad. ** No, 
never, never, never. 1 am a man ; and will not flincb 
before tanger, that I hafe known to tespise since many 
years 5 but 1 cannot ever approve of this gruelty of 
making no brisners. Now turing the whole time I hafe 
served with our kreat king, at the pattle of Brague, 
where this sword was presented to me ; when we went 
into Morafia ; at the memoraple siege of Olmutz, where 
marshal Daun met us ;^nd at Zorndorff, where we peai 
the Hussions so ; and efen. pefore Dresden, I teclare 
upon my sacred word of an honorable man, I nefer 
knew of one single totividual prisoner being killed after 
he hat cried for quarters. But with these placked faced 

, Indjans, you mtgh| as well cry for a new wig or a night- 
cap as for quarters." 

''Be it so, my dear Conrad," s^id Livingston ; '* but 
for the moment, leaving the discussioft aside, tell me 
in your most laconic language, whether among those 
Indians, you recognised any ofthose who robbed you of 
your goods ? " 

'f '^ They paint their fisages so, and after all are so 

' equally ukly, I eannot be certain on that supject ; but 
to speak cantitly, I hafe some positive doubts. la the 
first place, I saw nothing of my gattle among them ; and 
although they might have alreaty eaten up my cows and 
my ehwine, yet they are not likely to hafe eaten our 



67 

mare so soon. In the ^second place, I tid not recbgi^'s^ 
one of my plankets, that I prougbt from Wesphalia, thai 
were all steblen* So I cannot precisely assert that they 
are the tiefs ; nor that they are not, as they may' be^' 
for all that, you k^pWy my wise captain.— In the third 
place," — 

'^ It seems already proved beyond doubt, tliat those 
men are not the same whom we have pursued, even 
from your own observations," interrupted Livingston ; 
** so we shall dismiss the subject, for more urgent occa- 
pattons call our care at this hour." 

So saying, he left the heavy paced Grerman, and as* 
cended the cliff, ip give nis orders for a retrograde 
march, with a hope that he might still trace the enemy* 
To proceed farther in the winding maze, was not pru^ 
dent ; nor was it provable that the fugitives had so far 
avoided his search. Livingston resolved, thereiore, to 
retrace his steps, even to the Delaware, if no informa- 
tion or vestige could be found, which might lead him to 
alter his course. As he reached the upper path, his< 
attention was attracted in a different direction, by notes 
highly pleasing to his ear* It was the voice of Burton, 
his venerated friend, who was hastening, breathless, to* 
wards him. His brow was streaming with perspiration, 
and his features, wont to be so placid, spoke grief and 
growing anxiety. He seemed harassed with fatigue ; 
and his tottering steps indicated that his strength could 
not allow him to have pursued much farther in his way* 
In fact, as Livingston advanced to meet him ; and as 
he stretched forth his hand, be saw his friend stagger 
on his feet j and reached him just in time to lend him 
his help to sit upon a rock on the bank of the stream. 

Burton's features, for a while, lost their expression ; 
his lips moved, but articulated no distinct sound, and a 
cloud spread itself over his eyes, as his head reclined 
back, upon the shoulder of his young friend ; until a 
few tei^rs trickling down his cheeks, gave relief to the 
expression which seemed to chain the utterance of bis 
sorrow. 



€8 

As he recovered the use of language, his countenance 
also resumed, if not its usual placidity, at least compo« 
sure visible on his brow, no longer ruffled by the tide of 
passions, which are incident to all men, though usually 
repressed by those of his sect. 

" My strength fiiiled me too soon this day," said he, 
with an evident effort to speak calmly ; " I am come 
too late, I see ;" and he turned involuntarily from the 
scene of blood, and remained in that situation for some^* 
lime, as if fearing lest such a sight might destroy his 
resolution to govern the gust of human feelings, which 
frail man would seem too weak to subdue. He seized 
Livingston's hand, and holding it elasped with an un- 
conscious grasp, he retainied it in his own during the fol- 
lowing conversation. 

*' Livingston, my son," said he^ fixing his eyes upoa 
him, " thou knowest I am not prone to reprove. Thou 
needest not even disclaim having an agency in the onset 
of this fray. I have already learnt the occasion, and 
can only regret that cause. I regret it, but I do not . 
repine, trusting in his unerring will, who is 'excellent 
in power and judgment and plenty of justice.' Yet I 
will claim that right which thou never didst dispute, to' 
suggest to thee what I think reason teaches and pru- 
dence demands. I ask thee, O ight not the perpetrator 
of the first aggression to be so shackled in his power to 
do harm, that such heinous murder may no longer be 
committed in thy sight ? " . 

" My first and my last care have been to discover the 
villain who dared to disobey my most positive com- 
mands," replied Livingston, " but in vain have I exam- 
ined man by man ; all deny the charge,'aod no one 
could presume to lay the crime on any individual with- 
out other evidence than vague suspicion, or mere 
probability." 

" Is there not one," said Burton, casting a firm glance 
upon Rogers, who was sitting on a rock, wiping his rifle 
slowly with an oily cloth, and apparently unconcerned or 



69 

€ven aware of Burton's presence,—" Is there not oae 
whose former evil deeds, and constant thirst for blood, i 
permit us at least to scrutinize with deeper search bis > 
slightest actions ? '* 

" You may easily suppose, that, knowing the man 
whom I think you suspect, I have taken pajns to examine 
b^m in the slightest particulars } but I own that after the 
most minute inquiry, I remain nearly convinced he is 
"^innocent, at least of this crime. Before the action, I 
watched his movements, and saw him place himself 
among those who were ordered to cut the retreat of the 
enemy. It is true, I had not my eyes upon him at the * 
moment the first rifle was fired ; but in so short H 
time, it seems impossible he could have reached the 
spot from which the shot departed. Moreover, in the 
course of the engagement he was several times at my 
side ; and though in one' instance, he seemed ready to 
disregard my autliority, yet this action, in such confusion, • 
cannot authorize me to suspect him of another breach 
of obedience } nor can I even impose on his audacity 
aught but the punishment which my own hand, on the 
spelt, inflicted upon him.'' 

" Punishment is not that which I would strive to draw 
upon that man or any creature," said Burton ; ^' but I 
^ should wish to place him in the impossibility of commit*- 
^ iog such a crime as was perpetrated by one of thy 
associates, and which, with all the appearances in his 
favour, might have come from Rogers' hands. Thou 
knowest his wonderful agility, and his power to hide his 
purposes as well as his deeds*" 

** I grant all that," replied Livingston ; " but I still 
persist in my opinion respecting the discharge of 
Rogers. The more so, as my suspicions rested, and 
are still attached upon a wretch, who has paid with his 
life for his wickedness and presumption. Tom Short, 
one of our foresters, and an associate of Rogers, by the 
by, remained concealed from our sight long before the 
Indians came within gun-shot ; and did not appear until 



70 

the engagement became general. He bas^besides long 
been known to lay in such ambusb in the way of bis 
enemy. In one word, he is just as likely to have plan- 
ned and accomplished the deed as Rogers, and the 
appearances are still more against him." 

" Be it as it may," said Burton ; " as Rogers was the 
first who spied the Indians, and had leisure to recognise 
them, he ought to be questioned, and be made to ac* 
count for bis not informing thee of their nation ; for he 
knew, lam convinced, that this was the tribe of Tadeus- 
kund." 

*' Tadeuskund ! " exclaimed Livingston. " What ? 
the king of the Susquehanna Indians ; our sworn 
friend, and the inveterate enemy of the Six Nations ? 
I am sorely grieved indeed. But how have you been 
informed of the fact ? Have any of the clan escaped 
below ? " 

*' Call forth Rogers," said Burton, **he cannot deny 
a syllable of that which his acute eye and experience 
told him, but which his wickedness led him to con« 
ceal." 

" I should wonder indeed that he were so ignorant as 
to take them for those whom we are in search of; and 
I rather think he was aware of the truth, choosing to 
conceal it to accomplish some deep design of villany. 
But you must perceive at once, that it is impossible to 
force him to say aught but that which suits his purpose ; 
and we cannot, with the slightest plausability, find proofs 
that may convict him of his deception. I will examine 
him once more, however, since you wish it, and as a 
new suggestiotn has occurred to my mind." 

Saying this, Livingston turned, and called to Rogers. 
He was then occupied in cutting small pieces of buff- 
skin, which he greased one by one, for the purpose of 
wrapping his balls as he loaded his piece ; and carefully 
deposited them in a small box, made in the stock of his 
rifle. He obeyed slowly with a curse or two, which he 
took care however to smother in his teeth, and advanced 



71 

\i?ith a squint more oblique and sinister than on common 
occasions ; seemingly unacquainted with Burton, and 
disregarding him. 

" Rogers," said Livingston, fixing his eye sternly upon 
him, '* you have already denied, my assertion, that you 
must have known to what tribe these Indians belong, 
when you first pointed ihem out to me ; and although 
that would seem to imply an unaccountable contradic<^ 
tion with your own words, when, as I spoke to you of 
the enemy, you answered you saw them, pointing to these 
Susquehanna Indians ; yet as I have also granted that 
I was not sufficiently explicit in my question, I will not 
return to the same topic ; but I must ask you one more 
question. As you acknowledged (though perhaps un« 
awares), that when you saw them in the engagement, 
you knew they were not those whom we ar% pursuing, 
how came you to strive to exterminate, to the very last, 
these unofiendiog men ? " 

" I don't know bow you may like Quaker forbear-^ 

ance, sir," replied Rogers ; " but for my part, i should ■ 

think it queer enough to sit still, and let the hellish dogs • 

, scalp us at their ease." -^ 

" Had you but defended your life, I should not re- 
prove your deeds ; but tell me, sir, how you dared to of- 
fer to murder, in my presence, one of those Indians, who, 
unable to hurt, lay on the brink of inevitable destruction, ' 
if no hand had been stretched to his help ? Can you - 
disclaim an individual hatred to that man, whom at . 
iDOst you might have suffered to meet with certain death . 
in the tumbling precipice, had you not been so eager to ^ 
hasten his destruction ? " 

" Why, sir," replied Rogers, " it seems pretty plaiu 
he was not doomed to inevitable ruin, since your help- 
ful hand so timely saved, his life. As (o my hating him 
in particular, I 'II swear, there is not much odds in my 
enmity. I have sworn it before, and there is 'nt a chap 
in the province that knows me, but what he knows too, 
that I hate all the race of the red skin, and would wish - 
them out of the way, without any distinction." 



7fi 

. ** Unnatural man ! " exclaimed Burton, who no longer 
: could restrain his feelings ; " for heaven's sake, tell us 
the cause of such hatred ; can it be the mere thirst for 
human blood ? But were it so, thy stomach would be 
filled with the draught. Such streams as flow before 
thee would forever glut the throat oi the most greedy 
wolf, and he would eternally loatlie the crimson drink. 
Look, look below, and see thy work ; the very stream, 
dyed with the dripping blood, seems to revolt at the 
mixture and roars in thy ear, *" This stain of human gore 
was made by man.' But the Almighty voice which said 
to the deep, ' Thus far shah thou go, and no further,' 
can check the torrent of human passions in its course^ 
and the same power which caused the water to flow 
from the smitten rock, can meh even thy heart to com- 
passion. I repeat my request ; tell me, tell us the sub- 
/ ^ct that excites thy animosity to our red brethren ; and 
if aught can be done that toils, that patience, that en- 
during perseverance can accomplish, it shall be done to 
remove such hatred from thy bosom ; for I think no hu- 
man heart was ever closed to every kind feeling ; and 
if one avenue can be discovered, I shall cherish the 
hope to open thy eyes to more righteous ways." 

*' Captain," said Rogers, apparently unmoved, and 
unwilling to make any reply to Burton, " if you have 
done with me, I '11 go about my own affairs, as I 've got 
toifix myself for another rub, that will come sooner than 
some think for and wish for, methinks." 

" Nay, do not yet leave us, friend," said Burton, pro-* 
nouncing the last word in a mixed tone, between reproof 
and conciliation, " before thou goest, I entreat thee to 
hear me as a christian ; and if thou hast in remembrance 
the sixth co nmand, mark that I bear messages of 
peace, and may, ere long, restore amity between our 
former allies and ourselves. For heaven's sake refrain 
from useless aggressions." 

*' Hark ye, old Quaker," said Rogers, biting his lips ; 
"I have listened as much, and more too,than you yourself 



73 

ought to wish, for your sake. Mind ye this well, that 
two things ought to be observed by the meddling advi- 
ser ; whether his gabble will hit the mark^ in the first 
place ; and in the second, whether it is quite safe to let 
his tongue run fr6e.^' 

As he spoke thus, he turned, and was preparing to 
resume his occupation ; but Livingston detained him 
awhile. 

* " Rogers," said the commander,/'* you also have to 
bear in mind two things ; firsts my eyes are open, and 
seldom fail to serve ihy ends ; secondly, the slightest 
breach of my commands must meet with punishment as 
prompt as effectual. You may go now." 

" Now, my venerable father," continued he, address- 
ing Burton, ^' tliough it has been my lot to witness, and 
even join in this unhappy contest with the natives, I 
protest to yoU) that I am more than ever disposed to 
listen to entreaties in their favour, as my admiration for 
their character increases. From you I expect to obtain 
both advice and information. How have you ascertained, 
that those men belong to the tribe of Tadeuskund ; and 
by what means, can I inform him of my good will to- 
Awards his tribe, with an account of the fatal error which 
caused the fray. 

<^ I have the means nev us," said Burton ; " but I 
must be assured that no harm shall be ofiered to the 
messenger whom I propose to employ ; for he is one of 
the few victims, who escaped the rage of thy asso*- 
ciates." 

'' Were then'my conjectures true indeed ? You give 
me joy, to bring me such tidings ; and you may rely on 
this, — ^not a hair of his head shall 1)e touched, as lodg 
as a drop of blood runs in my veins. I conjure you, call 
him before us, and dismiss all fear concerning his safety. 
Do not delay one moment ; and in the meanwhile, I 
will give orders for his reception, which, believe me, no 
6oe will dare to disobey." 

Burton, trusting on the words and on the prudence ot 
1 



74 

the youog chi^f, instantly turned to the path which led 
to the plain ; and soon disappeared hi the maze of 
rocks and bushes which bordered the narrow and cir- 
cuitous banks of the river. In the meantime, Livings- 
ton, delaying the departure of his band, informed them 
of his resolution hot to proceed in his march, before he 
had found means to send tidings of peace to the injured 
Tadeuskund. 



CHAPTER V. 



P%i2tnf«. Tons Toulez un grand mal & la nature humaioer 
- JUeeti*, O ui j*ai coDfu pour elle use effiroyable Jrnine. 

MOLISRK. 

Some time elapsed before Burton returned with the 
native, whom he had announced. At last Livingston, 
in eager expectation, saw him advance with a young 
Indian, who wore nearly the same attire as those with 
whom he had reluctantly contended on the same morn- 
ing. This stranger had a dignity in his gait, and his well 
formed limbs seemed to possess agility and vigour ; but 
--on his dark countenance was impressed a certain ferocity 
rendered strangely wild by the vermillion with which 
^ his cheeks were deeply smeared* Stern revenge seated 
• on his brow appeared as the ruler of all the passions 
which might be nurtured in his soul. An openness of 
feelings, however, animated his lips, even in his wrath ; 
and seemed to bid defiance to disguise or deception, 
with friend or foe. A mere blanket shrouded his waist, 
whilst the end passed over his left shoulder, descended 
in folds to his knee. His head was orj;iamented with a 
single feather, with a few glass beads. A powder-horn, 
curiously wrought, hung by his side, being suspended 



75 

with a strap, ornamented like his mockasins with strings 
and quills of various colours. He held in bis band a 
heavy rifle, a substitute for the forsaken bow and arrows. 
He stepped with Urmness among those whom he could 
with justice style his enemies ; and stopped on a sudden 
when he found himself in the centre of the gazing 
croud ; then placed himself in a lofty attitude before 
Livingston, apparently collecting his thoughts to address 
him, or to answer his questions. 

" Friend and brother," said Burton, who served 
through the following conversations as an interpreter to 
the Indian, '^ I have brought before yon this man, that 
you might hear from bis own mouth the assurance that 
you were led this morning to shed innocent and friendly 
blood, and that he might be convinced that the attack 
was unintentional on the part of most of you." 

Livingston Intimated his wish to be assured that he 
was one of Tadeuskund's tribe ; he received an answer 
which we shall give, not in the same words, but in sub«- 
stance, with expressions corresponding with th«se which 
he employed.; and, once for all, we inform the reader 
that henceforward we shall use the same liberty, to 
avoid useless repetitions and fastidious explanations. 

^' Brother," answered the Indian^ *^ Tadeuskund had 
cast a cloud over our name and our footsteps for this 
moon ; he wished us to walk in the dark ; but thy men 
have burst the cloud, and we have trodden the sun 
lighted path. My living brothers have sought the shades 
again, but light had rested on their heads, and light is 
still over them. Wherefore, our father can no longer 
hope to let the cloud shelter us from your eyes. 
Tadeuskund is our king." 

'' Was he himself among those who escaped from us 
this morning.**" demanded Livingston, eagerly. 

" As the sun has shone upon us," replied the Indian, 
^ our name must be known *, but Tadeuskund, who 
wished lo remain in the shade, may still wish, if he 
breathes, to shroud himself in the mist around him. He 



76 

fears not the rays of the sun, but sometimes chooses 
darkness over his path, that hb eyes may lastly behold 
a clearer light. My tongue shall not discover his steps/' 

" Who was the female, who"— said Livingston ; then 
interrupting himself abruptly, altered his words, and 
said, *^ this friend of your race, has already' acquainted 
you with the error which caused this bloodshed* Will 
you bear back to him messages of peace, and the a^* 
suranee both of my esteem and of my regret for the 
misfortune ; with a promise to indemnify him and his 
men, so far as we can atone for an involuntary crime ? ^* 

^' Brother,'^ said the Indian, with a gesture of indig- 
nation, *^ what can be offered that will pay for the lUe 
of our friends f When fire has consumed an old pine, 
would you assay to raise its ashes once more in the air in 
the form of bark, and branches, and leaves ? No. The 
wind spreads the dust, and leaves no trace of the tree ; 
so no hand, but that of the Great Spirit, can bid the 
bones of the slain and their flesh, to walk with life» 
Rolled 49wn in the stream, their blood shall fatten the 
fishy and their bodies shall feed the eagle or the crow. 
We shall see them no more, while here. You can slay. 
You have slain ; but you cannot restore breath." 

" I am aware," replied Livingston, ^ that nf)thing 
earthly can fully compensate your chief and your clan» 
for the loss of your brothers. But I wish you to relate 
to Tadeuskund, what you have seen and heard, that he 
may be convinced my intention could not be to injure 
one whom we regard as a true ally." 

i* Brother, to songs of peace we have ofien listened ; 
and as we turned to dances of joy, under the blades 
that we trod, we spied the snake, coiled to sting. But 
I shall bear thy words to our king." 

" Do so," said Livingston, " but ere you depart, tell 
me, if you know aught of the Indians whom we seek to 
avenge our wrongs ? " 

Brother, since the rising of the sun, we have seeu 
BO strangers to our tribe, save thy men ; they are uq 



77 

longer strangers to my eye." These last words the 
Indian iitiered with a fierce glance on the circle around ; 
but when his eye encoontered the stem figure of ^ 
Rogers, his whole countenance was convulsed, his teeth I 
were clenched instantly, and be made one step invcrfun* I 
tarily to meet him. He stopped, however, and oon^uo4 ' 
to address Livingston. **We also have wrongs to 
nvenge. Thy words arei smooth, and speak peace ; but 
if tboo seekest to avenge bloodshed, lode round, and 
see his face smeared with gore. That river has not 
water enoi^fa in its bed to wash the purple stain away." 

^^ Rely on the word of a man, who loathes the wan*^ 
Ion thirst for blood* Odd murder shall be avenged ; I 
justice shall be done to the oppressed, but the hand, ere 
it strikes, must pause, that it may fall on the true cause i 
of guilt. In the meanwhile, carry these presents to your '' 
chief, and accept this for jiH^arselL" 

Saying this, Livingston put into bis hand a string of 
wampum, with several ornaments for the king, and a 
powder flask as a gift for himself. The Indian preserved 
the presents destined for Tadeuskund, but returned his 
to Livingston. 

'^ Bi'other," said he, '^ these tokens of peace, I shall 
deliver to our king, but I cannot take the flask ; it holds 
powder, which 1 need, but it smells of my brother's 
blood." 

Livingston, who knew it would be useless to urge 
him to accept the gift, said no more, and made a sign to 
him, that he was at liberty to depart and turn his course 
in any direction which he chose. The Indian, having 
darted another glance upon Rogers, and given his hand 
to Burton, turned to the chasm ; and proceeded with a 
swift pace, without allowing his eye to rest on any other 
individual of the interested group. 

Livingston, who stood awhile contemplating the 

stranger as he receded, nevertheless observed that 

Rogers, seemingly without any premiditated design, was 

recediflg from the crowd, with a wish it seemed to es- 

7* 



fs 

cape bis watchful observation, and strove to ccineeat 
himself from the eyes of the rest. He noted bis motion, 
witliout allowing him to suppose bis attention was fixed on 
bim; and remarked thai he was hasteniog to the place 
iiom which departed the shot, which, on that mornings 
bad been the preliminary of the fray. But what inspired a 
greater curiosity in bim, Was to see Burton soon after 
ibllowing the son of the wilderness, step by step,* unob- 
served) among the briars and rocks that covered the 
way- 
He determided to pursue the same path, to ascertain 
(be cause which could lead two so different men to the 
same spot, both apparently avoiding the sight of the 
rest, though one at least could not be supposed to be 
acquainted with the maze. The spot towards which 
they were proceeding, was on the acclivity of the ridge, 
in a commanding elevation, from which the concealed 
observer could have an extensive view of the path be- 
low, and of the windings of the chasm. Shaded by 
various bushes, and obstructed by bristling rocks, tbe 
place was not inaccessible, however, as it appeared at 
first sight ; for Livingston, who now and then caught a 
glimpse of Rogers' fox-*skin cap among the branches, 
perceived that the hunter then accelerated his steps ; and 
he himself quickening his pace, soon reachc^d the lurk- 
ing station, where he became a witness, and an actor 
in a strange scene of contest and passion. 

At the moment, when he obtained the first sight of 
the two persons, whose track he pursued, Rogers' rifle 
was discharged, and ere the snooke was entirely dispers- 
ed, he bebeld tbe enraged ruffian contending with Bur- 
ton, whom he was striving to prostrate to the ground. 
t Astonished to find so much vigour in the old man's 
I resistance, he had just pulled bis hunting knife from its 
sheath, when Livingston interposed. He was fortunate 
. enough to make himself master of the weapon, b^ore 
Rogers, made conscious of bis presence, could {^ace 
, himself upon bis guard* 



79 

^^ Villain ! stand o£^" cried LiTingston. '^ On your 
life^ desist, this ini^&nt, frcan your grasp; and. look to 
it, tbffs shall be die last of your crimes, if yoa stir an 
arm, or finger, before I command you to explain this 
sew breach of my orders* Move but one st^ from 
this spot, and tbi9 knife shall the first time, since in your 
hands, minister to justice, when thrust to its handle in 
your beastly heart." 

Rogers, disarmed, and conirinced of the deCermfnatioa 
of Livingston, saw no other means of escape than passive- 
ly to submit ; and while he bowed in silence bis frantic 
fece, be abandoned bis bold of Burton, whose first 
movement was to place himself between the incensed 
commander, and the incorrigible offender. 

" Forbear, my son," said he ; " let not thy passion 
lead thee to commit aft action, which thy better reason 
Vfould force thee to repent. If he practises murtber, 
wilt thou show- death to his eyes, as a bond to his 
deeds, that be may become convinced bloodshed may 
have just ends i Refrain, as be submits ; and hear 
him justify his action, if he can." 

'* Speak, minister of hell ; I will hear your justifica-' 
tion, but know that cersed lies will poorly serve your 
ends. Speak," cried Livingston* 

"Why, sir," replied Rogers, cmce in. his life reduced 
by fear, to speak with humility, '' I dare say I was 
wrong, in handling that gentleman somewhat roughly ; but 
it was but a mistake of his after all, that brought me to 
the pass. I had come here just to try my poor skill on a 
fox that I spied in that cleft on the ridge ; and as I 
took peaceably my aim, down be fell upon me ; judging 
It, as I think, a great sin to shed blood, though it were 
tot from a wild creature." 

"Metbinks, thy rifle was not pointed that way," said 
Barton ; " but rather, as I feared (.while tracing thy 
steps to thijB place, that thy spirit of strife led thee to 
esterminate one more oT our brothers. I thank heaven 
that gave me strength and swiftness of foot to arrive ir 



80 

time to turn off thy arm. Had I been retarded bat one 
kstant in my course, yon JntKan had fallen another 
yictim of thy crueky. See, friend Liviogi^too, there be 
stands yet, undaunted by the danger seeking aroun4 for 
bis concealed enemy ; the ball struck a tree by bis side, 
and he cannot doubt that the shot was aimed against 
him." 

-" " So," said Rogers, " though your folks think it such 
an awful thing to shed bk)od, yet h seems you would 
pretend to know which way a rifle must be turned to 
kill, aye!" 

'^ Peace, lying brute !" cried Livingston, stamping bis 
foot on the groimd, ^^ and learn that untimely saeers, and 
subterfuge in any shape must' aggravate your case. Do 
not expect to impose upon my credulity. I know you ^ 
I know that all the vile doings which ndao can enumer*- 
ate, and which the fiend can execute, have all been 
tried by you ; and yoiir brain, even now, is racked to 
devise some new [^an of hellish villany ; but see this 
knife, still reeking with gore, perchance of man, now 
ready to cool in your freezing bloody and know that nol 
even the prayers of this entreating old man can avert my 
purpose or my hand, if you seek the slightest evasion 
to my search into your dark designs." 

*' 1 '11 swear, sir," replied Rogers in a tone of voice 
rendered tremulous by fear or by rage, *^ I don't see 
that there is such matter — " 

'' Peace, once more. Wait till yob are called upon 
to speak ; and when you speak, swear not; your oaths 
serve but to usher a falsehood. You now stand con- 
victed in my mind of wilful murder upon those who fell 
this morn ; for your deception was the sole cause of the 
fray. That, you must know, with the piesent attempt 
to murder one of our allies, is enough to condemn you 
at the bar of jiiptice. Now, though I must have you 
committed to attone fof yoor crime, yet one means, and 
but one, still remains to mitigate the judgment passed 
upon you ; and that is, to answer, without any reserve, 



81 • 

to my questiong, assured as you must be, that the truth 
or treachery of your words will be discovered ere a 
week is elapsed. You have seen Tadeuskund at Easton^ 
I know it, and probably elsewhere ; tell me now, was it 
not he himself, who attempted to leap over the cleft this 
day» and whom you seemed so eager to destroy ? '* 

'* I c%n't say, but that he looks a great deal like the 
man," replied Rogers. 

** Nay, was he not Tadeuskund himself, I ask you. 
No evasion," said Livingston. 

" I can 't swear." 

^* Do you at once declare whether you knew him | 
I trust your hawk's ey€«." 

^^ I take it, it was Tadeuskund," said Rogers. 

^* WeU I so far am I satisfied of the reality of my 
C(»gecture8« Who was the young Indian, whom you 
just designed should share the fate of bis brothers f " 

^^ I do n't know that I have acknowledged havii^ tried 
to kill the feUow, »r ; but if you mean the man that 
you sent back to his chief, why, I never knew his 
name -, only I remem&er seeing him along with Tadeus* 
kund ; be follows him wherever he goes." 

^^ If you knew so little of him," said Livingston, 
^^ what enmiiy, or what benefit could you expect from 
the crime, which my friend prevented you from com- 
mitung ? " 

^^ Why, sir, I know as much of that heathen, as of 
any of the red race," replied Rogers. *' I know if we 
do 'nt cut their throats, they will do that job for us." 

^* Cruel man!" replied Burton, ''when didst thou 
bear of murder unprovoked committed by Tadeus- 
kund, or any of his peaceful tribe f Nay, they have 
long brooked and forgiven injuries, inflicted by men 
like thee; and if they have been compelled to retaliate 
upon the oflfender, it was when the load of wrongs be« 
came too heavy for human patience to sustain." 

'' My good father," said Livingston, '' do not attempt 
to reason with that uugovernable wretch. His selfish 



82 •• 

hatred for the Indians, has some deeper cause thaa 
malice which may be repressed. Before the tribunal 
of justice, and possibly pefore a higher one, he will 
explain his concealed motives, ere his obdurate con-' 
science stings him to relent, and brings repentance 
without the fear of death." 

" If such be your conclusion," said Rogers, on whose 
livid and distorted countenance, were visible, fof once, 
the contending emotions which agitated his mind, "I 
think I may shew you some reasonable cause for hating 
the cursed race of the woods. Look on this bead of 
mine, and say whether such service done to me, deserve 
Dot my constant remembrance.** 

Speaking thus, he threw off the heavy cap which 
constantly shrouded his temples and his brow ; and laid 
before the* eyes of Livingston and his friend, a sad 
memorial of the fury of his savage enemies. Entirely 
destitute of hair, bis scarred head, ill covered with a 
thin purple skin, bore the indelible traces of the deadly- 
scalping knife. There was a cast of wild distraction 
upon his countenance, which impressed the beholders 
with irresistible horror. His convulsed features spoke 
the warring passions which his tongue for a time refused 
to express. His teeth were clenched, and his lips 
pressed in vain on those walls of his soul, gave vent but 
to a streak of bloody foam ; whilst bis eyes seemed to 
search in the fields of space for a path of escape, or for 
a sting whose venom might free him from men and 
their hands. At last he spoke. 

" In hell might one seek for Such pangs as were en- 
dured by me; and from man has Rogers been blasted 
with those pangs. From man, did I say ? Ha ! yes, 
indeed, from them whom we sent but just now, to their 
birth place, to the land of the fiend that sent them 
here. I Ml swear, the sight of the axe or the rope 
cannot blot out from within me the deadly hate, that 
I breathe in with the air, and would willingly feed with 
my own blood against them." 



^% 



83 

Ere he bad fini^ed these words, Liyingstoo perceiv- 
ed that it would be vain, farther to pursue bis examina- 
tion, at least as lopg as Rogers remained in thatjig|gjg»f ^ 
frenzy ; so making a sign to him, to walk before Burton^ 
and^lbnsejf, be descended from this elevated station, 
keeping on his prisoner a watchful eye, and holding him 
in reality in awe, by a look of stern, immovable resolu- 
tion. Judgu^ it impQssible then to cummune with the 
frantick son of the wilderness, so as to extract from him,r 
satisfactory infcirmatiop, on the movements of the ini- 
mical Indians, be instantly ordered his troop to retreat 
as he had designed ; and committed Rogers to the guard 
of two men, whom he placed in the centre of the band 
with strict injunctions to watch his slightest motions, and 
prevent, the possibility of his making his escape. 

Presently, they revisited the valley ; and as far as 
could be known, retraced their steps towards the Dela- 
ware. In the meanwhile, Livingston preceded his men, 
and supporting with his arm his weary friend, in bis 
walk, sought in his conversation to learn more of those 
natives, whom he now longed* to meet again. 
. " I hav^ often heard of Tadeuskund and his tribe, 
who inhabit the sweet vale of Wyoming," said he to 
Burton ; ^' but their history is rather confused in my 
mind,, and I have long wished to hear you relate it to 
me ; now I will ask that of you." 
. ^* I will do so the more gladly, that I may, in these 
times, of contention and strife, remove from thy mind 
3uch prejudices as thou mayest have imbibed against 
that injured nation, and the race of our red brethren at 
l«rge. 

" Thou knowest already, that these Indians removed 
from the shores of the Delaware; and in the year 
1742, fixed their abode on the Susquehanna. They 
form a part of the Lenape nation, once numerous and 
powerful, but now oppressed, and nearly kept in sub- 
jection by the Six Nations or Mingoes, who, by the ter- 
. ror of their arms, and perhaps still more by their artful 



r-/ 



84 

policy in their treaties, have reduce^ theiki to the pre- 
; sent state of humiKation, compelKng them ^ to become 
^ women/ as they express it in their language. Those 
Delaware tribes, always friendly to our VVUliam Penn 
and bis society, might never have ceased to be so to- 
wards the English at large, had they not snffered re- 
peated provocations from such men as yon emraged 
forester. For the instigations of the Canadians only, 
eoold not have led them to break with us a peace that 
we bad hoped might be perpetual. Wlieh their good and 
^beloved chief, Tademe, was murdered by the hand of od« 
* of our colour, Tadeuskund, long known by his wisdona 
in council, his firmness in war (I aay not by his Talonr, 
for I speak in his praise), was elected by the Sosque^ 
hanna tribe, as their king. This man, called foolishly 
the '' War Trumpet," by many, ha3 been a constant 
friend to our people and to our king ; but his situation 
lias been an arduous one. Inclined by his disposition to 
favour our views, it has been bis constant task to resist 
the temptations of the French, and to repress the 
growing enmity of bis injured people towards us. At 
several treaties, held at Easton, we hare witnessed his 
zeal, while we regretted his danger. His attachmenft 
to our sect in particular has drawn upon him the hatred 
of many neighbouring tribes ; and the Mingoes, more 
than once, have threatened to destroy in him the friend 
of the whites. Even now, he is surrounded on aU 
sides with snares, for our s£^es. Those very Mbgoei( 
whom thou art now pursuing, the emissaries of tiie 
Canadians, I have been told are hovering about him, to 
force him to declare against us, or if he remain firm 
an our side, to terminate his life, the greatest obstacle 
to their wishes. What renders his danger still more 
imminent, is that those men are led by Wancomand, a 
chief or prophet, an irreconcileable enemy of the whites, 
who by means of imposture, and superstition, has oh* 
tained a dictatorial sway over the minds of these 
deluded tribes, too easily enthralled by the fear oi 



85 

witc(icraft aod supernatural powers. His empire is-- 
such, that a word from his lips, or a wave of bis liand 
will send to death the bravest or the best, as his whim 
or bis wily policy commands. Those lions of war^ who 
confront dangers unsubdued, tamely bow before him, as 
lambs await their fate in silence, when the hand that 
reared them is extended over their heads." 

*^ You give me the greater wish to meet with that 
wild prophet," said Livingston, '^ that he may not, by his 
||reachery, deprive us of the most powerful friend we 
haVe'^among the Indian tribes ; and thus frustrate all 
your eflbrts to restore peace. Is it prc^able think ye 
that Wancomand still loiters on tiiis side of the Blue 
Ridge ? " 

^' But one man do I know, who could, if willing, 
lead thee to discover. the Mingoes ; for his knowledge 
of the places around, of all that relates to Indian - 
affairs, is equal to bis studied wickedness." 

^' You Hican Rogers, I suppose," said Livingston. 

** There is not another like biro," said B«irton, *'to ■ 
scent the track of his prey. Till the other night his . 
face was unknown to me ; but his name is known 
through the province for his constant wickedness. But 
I fear I greatly erred ; and departed from the rules of 
our sect, that proscribes war and all its tricks and de- 
ceits, when I recommended the means to deliver those 
men into thy hands." 

" Consider, my father," said Livingston, " that as 
long as you cherish the hopes of restoring peace, you 
must wish tlje cause of strife removed, and -as t)f twp 
evils you would -choose the least, you may reasonably 
prefer seeing the destruction of an obnoxious impostor, 
rather than have the nation involved in general war, if 
he be allowed to practice deception on the credulous, 
or treachery on the unsuspecting brave." 

" We are accustomed to think, that while we all 
know the rules and limits of- virtue, we have no right 
to do barm in order to produce good, though the good 
8 



86 

arising from it should be far greater than the harm ; but 
that moral principle way not debar my present purpose, 
for f hope that some secret intelligence might be 
extracted from Rogers, which would serve to clear the 
difficulty without bloodshed, were it possible for me to 
speak to him in private." 

" Nothing that I can grant shall ever be denied you," 
replied Livingston ;** and in this instance, the publickgood 
is interested in your exertions ; but reflect before you 
trust him alone, that he is likely to seize the opportunity 
to escape. 1 have not thought proper to ishackle his 
hands, and his feet have been left free, that he might 
follow us. Now, to bind his limbs, as we do with 
brutes, would be an unfavorable preamble to induce 
him to speak very freely." 

*' So did I think," said Burton ; " but methinks we 
might avoid that occurrence, by waiting till we halt for 
the meal, and for rest. At that *hour, if his guards 
would but remove themselves a few steps, I may engage 
him in conversation unheard by the rest." 

Livingston acdeded to the suggestion of his friend, 
and puj; an end to the conversation, as he perceived 
that the party, to all appearances, had strayed from the 
right path, and were likely to deviate still more in con- 
sequence of the sun being totally hidden by a fog, 
which, growing thicker and more thick, threatened to 
turn ere long to rain. Being deprived of the advice 
I and assistance of Rogers, who had sunk into his usual 
sullen taciturnity, Livingston perceived by the hesitation 
of his guides, that it was quite doubtful, whether they 
advanced or receded in their march. ' They were now 
arrived on the edge of a copse, growing on the declivity 
of a hillock, at the bottom of which a vast swamp 
spread far before them, and extended on both sides, fbr 
such a distance, that unless they took a long cirduit^ 
they must cross it, if they persisted in following the 
direction which they now pursued. The marsh was 
intersected by various little streams that wound their 
filtrating waters in every direction ; and so calm and 



87 

slow was their course, that the eye could hardly trace 
the direction which they, took in iheir wanton journey 
through the plain. Here and there a decayed old 
tree,, covered with hoary, moss, stood as a mark for the 
rover to distinguish the ground where he might tread 
without the perspective of sinking into the bog, or wad- 
ing in the deceptive mire. The swamp was filled with 
little groves of entangled bushes, that made it in roost 
places a perfect labyrinth. A bed of green moss and 
bushy ferns decked the ground, and served to conceal 
the frequent puddles of black stagnant water, where 
the green snakes, the adder, and the turtle love to make 
their abode. There dwelt the pheasant and various 
aquatic birds ; and the fox also found in those places a 
retreat against his numerous enemies* 

How far the marsh extended could not easily be 
known, for the fog did not permit the eye to range far 
forward ; but Livingston resolved at least to try to pene- 
trate through the maze, and led the way himself. 
After having proceeded a certain distance, he perceived 
that as he avoided the various obstacles in his way, he 
had gradually lost sight of the direction which he ought 
to pursue ; but having advanced so far that it would 
have been difficult to retrace his steps, he persisted in 
bis attempt. The farther he advanced, however, the 
more did the obstacles increase ; now and then, some 
of his men sunk deeply in the mire, and as their danger 
called forth his aid, time also was wasting in these re- 
peated accidents. Conrad, among the rest, was playing 
his part in this ludicrous drama. Now, his long boots 
dived, with their contents, into the treacherous bog ; 
then, a forest of little twigs and entangled bushes en- 
soared the limbs of the panting German ; whilst, to the 
great annoyance of his cheeks and protruding eyes, the 
uncivil .branches, bent forwards by the person before 
him, resumed their usual place with a lash on his face 
when the opposing body was passed. He contrived, 
bowever, with the assistance of a few Saxon oaths to 
keep up with the rest, or at least to retain them in sigh* 



88 

After travelling thus for a considerable distance, 
Livingston perceived at last, that the ground was sensi- 
bly rising ; and presently, he discovered a point of land, 
on which lofty pines and thick hemlocks reared their 
heads above huge pyranriids of rocks, among which they 
grew. As the fog was already converted into rain, this was 
thought a convenient place for the parjty to halt, and be 
refreshed under tlie shelter afforded by these trees. Ac- 
cordingly Livingston gave his signal, and the travellers 
prepared to draw out their provisions, and satisfy the ap- 
petite created by the exertions of the morn. In the mean- 
while, Burton, intent upon his design, approached Rogers 
and his guards ; and having made these acquainted with 
the permission which he had from the commander, he 
obtained as they receded the opportunity ,which he had 
wished, to address the prisoner without being overheard. 

" Rogers," said he, lowering his voice, '* whilst these 
men permit it, I have wished to hold with thee a con- 
versation which interests thy safety, as well as the good 
of mankind. Thou knowest the danger in which thy 
cruelty has placed thee, and in such an emergency must 
wish to propitiate some friends." 

"I dare say, I'll find friends enough among the 
Quakers," replied Rogers ; " but I care not about the 
good will of -folks, unless they be on my jury." 

" The question is not, who will judge thee now, but 
who might help ihee powerfully, wert thou to serve, 
once in thy life, the cause of humanity." 

"What may that be, sir." replied Rogers, with a 
mixed tone of irony and affected unconcern. 

" We are convinced thoii knowest where and how 
Wancomand and his tribe may be found," said Burton. 
^' Now werf thou but to find means to inform him, that 
a powerful force is in arms, and prepared to depart from 
Easton, with instructions to bring him dead or alive, [ 
can assure thee, that such a service would be remem- 
bered by our friends." 

" So, Mr. Burton," said Rogers, '* you have turned 
friend of the Mingoes too, aye ? " 



89 

^' Induce them but to depart quickly, and nerer to 
visit us again, to breathe discord and hatred among our 
allies, and they may fully rely on our good will. If 
these men of war succeed in finding and conquering 
them, they will only shed blood in vain ; for it is not in 
the power of Wancomand or his tribe, to indemnify 
those who have suffered from their depredations.?' 

"I'll tell you what," said Rogers, " if I knew where - 
they are to be found, it 's likely I should lead yon crack- 
brained fop against them, that I might have a chance, 
during the scramble, to clear out of your hands. But- 
I can 't say that they are far or near, so you may pocket 
up your proffers of far-fetched kindness." 

'^ But supposing that I should engage to obtain your 
instant liberation," said Burton, undiscou raged, " would 
you persist in your ignorance ? " 

Rogers' features shewed some indecision ; he re- 
mained silent for a while, then cast a look of mistrust 
on Burton's face, shewing a hesitation as unwonted in 
him, as the divulging of truth. He might have spoken; 
one moment more and his timely information might 
have averted the impending danger which hung over 
our hero and his band ; but it was decreed that 
the villain should alter his purpose of ministering to 
good, or rather persevere in his innate inclination for ^ 
evil. His eyes wandering around him still with hesitat- I 
ing search, chanced to rest upon some object in the 
swamp, which, though he gave no instant symptom of 
the change, totally altered bis design. 

He presently resumed his habitual moodiness; and 
taking his revolving cud, as a pretext for postponing his 
answer, he squirted the narcotic juice from his mouth| 
and persisted with an oath, in saying that he was igno- 
rant of the situation, or even of the existence of the 
ioj mical tribe. 

''"^1 ^ir say""this much to ye," added he, grujffly, "that 
ye may say to our valiant captain, when he sends a spy, . 
IM advise him not to send a sneaking Quaker. I 
8* 



90 

woflld as lieve see the skirts of a petticoat-bound old 
lYornan, as the long pocketed coat of one of your fat 
bellied tribe." 

" When I offer thee instant release from thy bonds,** 
said Burton, '' bow canst thou continue to doubt the 
sincerity of my proffer." 

*'Iam doubting one thing," said Rogers, ''that is, 
whether it would be over safe for me, in my pass, to 
treat you with as confounded a kicking, as my foot 
Jongs to apply to your sitting part," 

" Must I then return with no information ? " 

". You may go to hell, if you don 't think the place 
too hot to roast your stuffed turkeys and geese." 

Burton was about to depart ; but one fond thought 
seemed still to linger on his lips; a doubtful shade 
wavered on his brow, and his eye spoke a tale of anxie- 
ty. He probably despaired obtaining aught from Rogers, 
but the effusions of confirmed and studied malice ; but 
resolved to make one effort at least. 

" Rogers," said he, with a slight faultering in bis 
voice, " before I leave thee, 1 must speak yet on another 
subject. I know not thy face, but roethinks thou hast 
fa deep acquaintance with my misfortunes ; perchance 
(with my whole life. A few words, coming I doubt nor, 
VTrom thy mouth, recalled to me not long since, that most 
disastrous night, when I was bereft of all that I held 
precious on this earth. My wrfe and my babes, I can 
hope to behold again only in heaven, where " the wick- 
ed cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.'* 
But one perhaps still lives, of my beloved darlings. 
O ! tell me, Rogers, if thou hast a soul within thee, 
say where is my Julia. I can read in thy eye, that 
thou knowefst, what I should long to learn, were my 
blood to be the price required by thee; As thou art a 
roan, speak to a father, who, to know her fate would 
'- ibrfeit all in this world, but the love he owes his God.'* 

•♦You may give y©ur bloody if you choose," said 
Rogers, ** and your -soul in the bargaiiJ, for all I know. 



91 

before you get more information than I mean to gire 
you." 

" Unfeeling man ! Unkind for the mere love of un- -- 
kindness ; can nothing touch thee ? If the love of 
virtue finds no place in thy heart, can the hatred of 
vice and the fear of divine punishment inspire no re- 
morse, strike no terror in thy mortal .frame. For 
heaven's sake, think how soon thou roayest be called to 
account, before the tribunal on high." J. 

" I know that you and your d d friends won 't 

call me so soon before their cursed tribunal as they 
may think for ; and 1 can tell you there is a new job at 
hand for them." 

As Rogers uttered these last words, a loud yell was 
heard, proceeding from various directions, hut particu- 
larly from the swamp, and was followed by the discharge 
of a considerable number of rifles. The effect of these 
was as fatal as unexpected ; for probably, every aimed 
shot effected the purpose of the concealed enemy, and 
ten or twelve men fell round Livingston, who fortunate- 
ly stood himself uninjured. The next moment a swarm 
of Indians, having their faces smeared with black, 
rushed all at once on the troop, rending the air with 
ibe repeated whoop of war. 

The dismayed band could offer but a faint resistance, 
unprepared as they were to confront the rage of the , 
enemy. The savages with their raised tomahawks fell 
upon them, before the surviving foresters had found - 
time to snatch their arras, which the rain moreover 
would have rendered useless in their hands. 

Livingston saw at once the imminent peril in which 
be and his men were placed, and perceived that noth- 
ing could save them but the greatest intrepidity, union 
in action, and above all, the most implicit obedience to 
his commands. But his hopes vanished when he saw 
most of his men basely turn to the woods, seeking m 
flight for a safety which they despaired of finding in resist- 
ance ; and which they could not expect to obtain by 



92 

submitljng to the yoke of a merciless enemy. All had 
iSed but two or three ; and even the once formidable 
Conrad had made a fevV strides to follow the fugitives; 
but impeded by his heavy boots and already exhausted 
by the toils of the day, he soon became convinced that 
flight in his case would be of no avail 'to save his life, 
he therefore resolved manfully to await his fate by the 
side of his commander, who continued to intimidate by 
his looks and actions a throng of Indians then surround- 
ing him, with the few who preferred death, to the 
shame of leaving him alone on the field. 

Livingston had despatched three with his sword, and 
turning his back against a huge rock, fronted the enemy 
who stood around him. In the meanwhile, the number of 
the savages inoj eased, in spite of the flourishing of Con- 
rad's *' great sword," w^hich, on the whole occasioned 
more noise than harm. One of the assailants, having re- 
loaded his piece, was approaching, and prepared to termi- 
nate the contest by the cold blooded murder of the chief; 
but he was prevented in his design by the sudden appear- 
ance of a man, before whom, as he approached, all 
seemed to sink into the willing bonds of submissioQ and 
awe. The uplifted tomahawk ploughed back its way» 
inert, slowly in the air ; and the rifle, about' to vomit 

. death from its metal mouth, was turned in fearful silence 
to the ground, whilst the panting sons of the woods 

' bowed down their proud heads, and recoiled from their 
victim, as the bloody mouthed hound shrinks from its 

* prey, under the influence of the lash of its royal master. 
A wave of his hand, told them to desist, and approach- 
ing fearlessly within reach of Livingston's weapon, he 
stood awhile surveying him wMth the glance of a hawk. 
He was tall and lean, but powerful strength was visible 
on bis sinewy limbs. His arm, in its commanding ges- 
ture, moved with the rapidity of lightning ; and to those 
men, his voice sounded terrible as the appalling growl 
of thunder. 

The form and expression of his features were so far 



^ 



93 

disguised, or veiled with black paint, that save the white 
encircling the dark revolving pupil of his eye, nothing 
could be known of his countenance. As he stood thus, 
Livingston, who penetrated his design, made a sign to 
Conrad, then his only surviving companion, determined 
to try a last effort, at least, to pierce through the crowd 
of now idle warriors^ who stood stupified around him. 
But the uncouth and ill-timed haste of the bewildered 
German bafSed his design, and placed them both in the 
power of the enemy ; for as Conrad caught the signal 
of his chief, he rushed head foremost against the host, 
but with such wild precipitance, that he stumbled, even 
at the second step ; and in his fall, rolled so completely 
in the way of Livingston, that he caused him, though 
involuntarily, to share his disgrace. 

A hundred hands were immediately upon them ; and 
in a moment the limbs of both, in spite of their efforts, 
were confined with bands, against which their strength 
wrestled in vain. Not one of the military band, save 
Livingston and Conrad, now remained with life on this 
fatal spot; but one frien^ was still there uninjured and 
free ; it was Burton. 

' As tfie jattack was made, he hastened forward, at the 
peril of his life ; but ere he advanced he turned towards 
Rogers, and saw him deliberately snatch his own rifle 
from the hands of one of his guards, who was entrusted 
with it for the time, and profit by the confusion to make 
. bis escape. The villain coolly levelled his piece against 
Burton ; but, damp with rain, it flashed, and once more 
he was disappointed in his work of death. Before he 
sunk into the woods, however, he repeated to Burton 
the same threatening words, " Remember Mount 
Hope," then dived out of sight. 

Burton, during the short fray, had loudly cried for 

Seace, but his voice was drowned in the din of waf. 
Tow he made his way among the grim visaged satellites 
who held his friend in fetters. He entreated, he prayed, 
but bis words were vented in vain. The savages seeming- 



94 

Ij inattentive to bis voice, ignorant, as it were, even of bis 
presence, prepared in haste to depart. At last the stem 
chief, wearied by his entreaties, seized him with one 
hand, and carrying him at a distance, left him with one 
of his clan to detain him until they should be out of 
his reach ; and presently the Indian party-with the cap- 
lives disappeared in the intricacies of the swamp. 



CHAPTER VI. 

^ At monumental bronze unchanged his look ; 

A soul that pity touciied but never shook. 

Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier, 

The fierce extremes of good ami ill to brook. 

Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear, — 
^" A stoic of the woods— a man without a tear. 

Campbell. 

The sensations which agitated the heart of Living- 
ston, and that of his honest companion of captivity, were 
very different from those which they had experienced 
on passing through the places that now, as slaves, they 
were compelled to visit anew. Tortures and death 
seemed the inevitable termination of their misfortune. 
Livingston, however, resolved to sustain his fortitude to 
the last, and patiently to await the treatment which 
savages, in such cases, are wont to inflict. But Conrad, 
the ill-fated Conrad, pensive and dejected, bore with 
less firmness the load of bis accumulated evils« Hope, 
however, that sweet deceiver, that constant friend, 
whose deceptions we detect, but never abandon, had 
found, perhaps, more room in his bosom than that of 
his apparently less dismayed captain. Both, being once 
more allowed the use of their limbs, walked in silence, 
surrounded by the Indians, who seldom caused their 
voices to interrupt the stillness of the desert. Then 
Livingston bad leisure to examine his captors; and 



^5 

that they must be those whom he had pursued was his 
last coDJecture, which soon became conviction, when 
he caught the mournful eye of Conrad, painfully at- 
tached on a German blanket, which shrouded the 
shoulders of one of their guards. 

The rain continued slowly to pour on the earth its 
little drops of condensed fog, and the air thick and 
•gloomy, was undisturbed by the slightest noise, save by 
the cautions steps of the savages. The sky seemed to- 
weep over the last efforts of autumn to rouse the 
earth from its incipient sleep. "Thus," thought 
Livingston, ** is nature gently lulled to slumber ; and 
in the couch of the revolving season, torpor will soon 
follow her last smiles, that she may find in that sleep 
new vigour for another wake. Not so with man ; with 
his existence he receives a flame that kindles his ever- 
burning passions ; and like a torch which blazes day 
and nighty till consumed, his life is inflamed and wasted, 
by the very fire without which it must cease to exist.'* 

Livingston perceived with a mixture of satisfaction 
and regret, that his leaders wefe directing their march 
towards the very gap, in the Blue Ridge, which on the 
same morn had been the theatre of his exploits and 
humanity. He hoped that he might once more 300 the 
ruling object of his curiosity ; but what that object 
was, he hardly dared acknowledge to himself. They 
presently reached the enchanted chasm, and were about 
proceeding in the neck of the tortuous mountain; but 
it was in vain that he sought for animated beings among 
those rocks, and above all on the cliff, where he last 
beheld the fairy vision of the night. AH these fair 
scenes were involved in the mist, and presented nought 
to his eye but an indistinct image of dingy rocks and 
solitary wilds, as a dream of the reality of the morn. 

When the Indians arrived at the spot which had been 
the scene of the battle, on the same morning, as the 
oldest warriors leading the march, discovered the dead 
bodies, laying unburied on the strand, and the bloody 



96 

marks of the coaflict, they stopped on a sudden; and 
seemed to hesitate, in their council, on the course 
which they ought to pursue. Great agitation was visible 
in their gestures. They examined the slain and their 
relies with minute scrutiny, noting the dress of those 

-whom passion or avarice had not tempted the victors to 
despoil. Presently a murmur arose among them, which 
swelled into loud shouts. Some in peals of exultation, 
seemed to proclaim their joy ; others appeared to be 
seized with a sudden phrenzy, and gave vent to the 
breathings of their rage ; whilst the air vibrated with 
the name of Tadeuskund. Two of the most obstre* 
perous, with hideous hialice, painted in the dark furrows 
of their visages, turned towards the two silent captives, 
and brandishing their tomahawks, approached tbeoi 
evidently with desperate designs. The affrighted Con- 
rad, trembling like the Lehigh at his feet, expected 
every moment to see the fatal blade Ufted to terminate 
his woes ; and in his terror could not help moving his 
head to and fro, as the weapon, in its journey in the 
air, approached or receded from his hair. For it seemed 
that the fear of losing his scalp predominated over 

' every othet sentiment or shade of apprehension. At 
last, however, his solicitude, for a time at least, was re* 
moved by the dark chief, who advancing with an impe- 
rious gesture, reduced in a moment those men^ in the 
midst of their loudest vociferations, to the silence of 
humility and submission. Soon after, the Indians resum- 
ed their march onward with their prisoners, observing 
their former stillness and caution. For sometime they 
followed the windings of the stream, keeping the narrow 
and precipitous path \ichich nature had formed on its 
banks. Now and then the road was quite dangerous, 
even for the sure-footed savages. The river, in many . 
places, compressed on both sides by an almost perpen- 
dicular wall of rugged rocks, had barely succeeded to 
wear its way through the ridge, and left no passage on 
its sides, save on the jutting peaks that bung midway 



5t 

over its ledping waves. E^eo trfaeD stiirroonded liith 
the ministers of death, Livingston conld not refrain from 
admiring the sublimity rf tb6 scene. From the giddy 
brtfik, seemingly too narrow for human foot to tread, be 
loved to see above bis head the soaring eagle spread 
fai» broad pintoiis in bis element, slowly sailing Ovei* the' 
dark -prison of the stream, where a thousand gapitig' 
deaths tbreatened the presuming invader of his realms. 

While the perilous journey continued, Livingstob'sT 
Noughts were seldom attracted by his present abandon- 
ed situation, or by the actions and intentions of hii^ 
guides ^ but as they ascended from that fearful path, 
among the forest, painful recollection returned. He 
was exhausted with long exertions ; he was bruised with 
several heavy blows received in the fray, where he had 
been bereft of bis friends and his liberty. His hoped 
were only placed in the possibility of escape ; for hd 
could no longer doubt that be was the prisoner of the 
Mingoes, and that Wancomafid himself held him in his 
power. He knew the mortal haired of that wild pro- 1 
pfaet for the Europeans, and his efforts to rouse all the I 
native tribes,. to exterminate the new colonistiS from his- 
native lands. He was fully aware also that neither! 
promises, nor threats, nor any art would be of any avail 
to save his liC^ ; and that in the bands of such a furious- 
zealot, rank and command were powerful incentives to^^ 
excite his rage. 

Yet, in the gloom that hung over him, one sweet 
thoagbt was bailed as a consolation to assuage his bond- 
age. Among those wilds he had beheld an object 
whose image had attended him through the toils of the 
day, and which he still hoped and longed to meet again. 
But when an^wfaere that could be was uncertain. 

As night came rapidly on, the Indians hastened 
theif march ; whilst the evening breeze blew away the 
remnants of the clouds which had poured th^ir gentle 
moisture slowly through the day ; and ere the light of 
the sua had entirely faded from the west, the sky ha4 



§8 

resumed its serenity and purity. -They ascended a ' 
path which receded from the river, and soon reached 
a more even country in the uplands, through which 
they proceeded, with increasing caution. Such care in 
exploring their path inspired Livingston with a hope 
that he might still be released from their hands, by the 
enemy, whose presence they seemed to apprehend. 
At last, as they descended into a low dale, ihey came 
to a small brook, whose serpentine course they began 
to follow ; and presently after, a fire was discovered on 
the edge of the rill, at the foot of a ledge of rocks, 
forming a semicircular rampart around. Two or three 
Indians and a number of women and children were sit- . 
ting or standing in a motley group round the blaze, 
which threw a red, quivering light on their swarthy 
countenances. As the band approached, they hailed 
their friends, and were hailed in return with a low yell 
of recognition. The scalps, brought as a trophy of the 
victory obtained, preceded the processipfl, being carried 
on the extremity of a pole by the successful warrior. 
These were deposited by the side of a rude pillar, 
srected at a small distance from the fire. , 

That pillar or post, variously painted with red and 
black, seemed to be the only permanent memorial which 
bad been constructed by the* savages, to testify their 
presence on that spot. On it were curiously designed 
a number of hieroglypbicks, which probably indicated the 
nation and tlie tribe to which they belonged. When 
the warriors were arrived at the distance of twenty or 
thirty yards from the fire, they halted with their prison- 
ers, and for a while held a conversation in a low voice. 
Then the women and children separated in two files, 
forming an avenue, leading from the |pot, on which 
stood the two captives, to the post whicn we have just 
described. These females and young savages were 
armed with clubs, sticks, hatchets, tomahawks, or 
whatever the fury of the moment had ministered jo 
their bands, and stood on both sides with menacing 



99 

attitudes. The tall dark cbief advanced towards Liv- 
ingston and his companion, and signed to them that they 
must now run between the doubled range opened before ^ 
them, till they should reach the post. Livingston, who • 
had been informed of the Indian custom, sprung in- 
stantly forward, and passing without the least hesitation 
between the threatening band, whom his boldness 
abashed, he soon approached the goal, which, being 
once touched by the prisoner, was a safeguard that no 
one dared to violate ; such is the respect of Indians 
for established rules. Whilst Livingston was hastening 
to the post, one solitary youth, with fierce looks, pre- 
sumed to raise his club; and seemed determined to 
avail himself of his right by levelling as heavy a blow 
as his young hand could inflict; but a female, per- 
chance his mother, averted his weapon, and seemed to 
upbraid him for his want of respect for unshaken 
courage. As soon as our hero reached the goal, the 
savages raised a shout in approbation of his manly in- 
trepidity. 

In the meanwhile, poor Conrad remained motionless 
on the spotf seemingly as unwilling to depart, as uneasy 
in his stay. His eyes rolled alternately, from the ter- 
'rific band, to the post and his chief; and his hands had 
involuntarily taken a permanent station upon his head, 
to which they (irmly adhered. The chief several times 
repeated to him the sign to advance, with growing im- 
patience at his delay ; but Fritz seemed by no means 
convinced that it was safe so to journey, with his scalp 
protected by no surer shield, than his extended palms. 
He did not shew, however, uncommon symptoms of 
fear ; and had it not been for his antipathy against being 
scalped, he fhight have stood the trial of fortitude with 
tolerable decorum. But that "dreadful thought" 
seemed still to preponderate, and nought could urge 
him to depart for a lime. At last, as the chief with a 
peremptory look advanced, raising his tomahawk over 
bis head, Conrad could no longer resist the long res- 



ioo 

traioed temptation to expostulate with the savage, aDd 
10 deprecate so preposterous a custom, not reflecting 
whether or not his language was intelligible to his 
hearer. 

" Mein Herr, my reveretid salvage prince," said he, 
without altering the situation of his hand, except in the 
occasional elevation of his index, " why, in the name of 
the pright sun, why should yoli impose on a quiet pody 
that tisagreeable race, through these glubs and tommy- 
hawks f; I have served the kreat Jing Frederick of 
Prussia; and in all my travels and military experience 
t,I have never, no ! never, never heart of such ititignity 

■ bestowed on honorable brisnersof war. Only IhJ^ 
thieves and teserters must run the gauntlet in our 
armies* But here you seem to tespise the laws of 
nations. Der difle ! My fair sheneral. I am an honor- 
able, respectable, peaceable man, upon my thristiaa 
word ; and I entreat you besides to consiter that I anc^ 
a wonterfuUy skilful tailor; and if you treat me like 9l 
shentleman, or even as a tailor, I shall think it an ioi^ 
estimable satisfaction, nay an enfiable tuty to mend my 
plankets, — ^your plankets I mean- But if you are teter- 

- mined to fiolate all my riehts, know, you kreat thiel^ 

/''Conrad will rather expire like a soltier than be scalped 

^., by little poys and little kirls." 

All this expostulation was vented in vain, for th^ 
chief lifting once more his tomahawk with one hand^ 
seized him with the other, and pushed hiiii forward 
among the impatient crowd. The impetus was given, 
and Conrad found that he must inevitably run or be 
whipped ; he preferred the former^ and proceeded 
with additional velocity, at every blow, which he either 
dodged or received ; but* the same cause which had 
hastened his captivity, once more occasioned a similar 
effect, viz. his long boots. As,. 

Le trpp sup?rbe equipage 
Peut souvent en im passage 
Causer dii retardeiB«'|ii, 



101 

So he discovered, but too late, that those were not 
the best promoters of agility. In the confusion of pre- 
cipitation, he stumbled over a stick which one of the 
mischievous boys had aiined at his legs, and he fell ere 
he had reached the meridian of his course. Instantly 
the crowd rushed around him with evil, designs and 
evil deeds, for they vied with each other in their en- 
deavours to inflict on Conrad the heaviest blows.'^ 
Livingston, till then a passive spectator of Conrad's 
calamities, or, to say the least, perplexity of conduct, 
could not tolerate the thought of seeing his faithful 
companion mutilated by the wanton cruelty of the rab- 
ble. He made a few steps, to lend the assistance of 
his arm to the oppressed against the oppressor ; but he 
was detained by several warriors, who stood behind to 
guard against his escape, and led back to the painted 
post, with an injunction not to leave it at the peril of his 
life. In the meanwhile, Conrad, overpowered at first by 
the showering blows, which assailed him in his supine 
situation, seized on a sudden an opportunity to recover 
an eject posture on the summit of his boots ; and in 
this, fortunately accomplished a favorable as well as 
unexpected revolution, which opened means of safety, 
w^hen his case appeared quite desperate to all. Now 
armed with the club, the cause of his fall, he flourished 
it in every direction with such dexterity and judgment 
as to disperse, at a respectful distance, the astounded 
host, which stood. gazing as he passed ; but in his re- 
treat, giving a due elevation to each step that he took> 
lest a second fall should occasion a second beating, he 
chose to proceed as other men recede, namely, by turn- 
ing his back to the post, and thus fronting the xaging 
throng which longed to exhaust their choler upon his 
bruised Kmbs. Looking fiercely, and preserving a 
menacing altitude, in his slow retrograde march, he suc- 
ceeded in parrying off the shower of blows, which were , 
still directed against him. Thus, hke the bold Turnus, 
and the fierce lion, his prototype, he recoiled, 
9* 



lOS 



' ' ■■ et neque teiga 
Ira date aut virtus patitur. 



At lasty after many a tbrust from the fiend^ and many 
a J^oarisb of the opportune club in his self-defence, be 
reached the goal, where he found temporal security, and 
ctie warm congratulations of his captain. His glorious 
retreat, for a while, so elated his heart, as to make him 
unmindful of his bruises, and to repel the influence of 
dejection, the natural consequence of such a scourging. 
Indeed, from that moment, he seemed to have recover- 
ed, with a share of his good humour, a degree of forti- 
tude which helped him to bear the asperity of his lot ^ 
and, save some transitory turns of despondency flitting 
over his brow, when he would involuntarily pass his 
^ band on the upper surface of his head, as if to ascer- 
1 tain that all there was whole and safe ; save those lums, 
he seemed resolved to stand it to the last, with toiera* 
ble firmness. 

As soon as he attained the post, another shout pro- 
claimed the termination of this trial of courage possessed 
by the prisoners* Presently, two stakes were planted 
in the ground for the purpose of tying Livingston and 
his companion. The Indians, however, before securing 
the limbs of the captives, offered them to partake of 
their meal, which was venison, roasted on hot, flat 
stones surrounded with fire. Conrad accepted the 
eivility without much hesitation, and with civil acknowl- 
edgment of the kindness ; but Livingston could not 
eat ; deprived of sleep during the preceding night, 
harassed with fatigue, wounded and bruised in several 
places, exposed the whole day to the cold dampness of 
the fog and rain, he was seized with a chill through bis 
limbs, which seemed to bode a violent paroxysm of 
fever. His present situation tended greatly to aggravate 
and accelerate his illness. He saw no possibility of 
escape ; and in a prompt evasbh only, he could hope 
to avoid tortures and death. In a word, every moment 
his sufferings assigned a more alarming character. 



108 

Conrad, who bould itel fot another, with honest ^m* 
pathy, perceived the tortures endured by his command^ 
er ; but could only adhniuister to those pangs, compas** 
Biodate looks, and frequent German exclamations, such 
asy '' Aeh ! Ach ! £s thut mier leid ! '' or in English, 
^^ Mine heart is krieved upon mine soul." 

The Indians, while they were still employed in satis- 
fying their appetites, were interrupted by the approach 
of a party from the same tribe, which had been sent in 
a different direction, and returned to the camp. They 
apprized their companions of their arrival by a loud 
shout, which was anewered by those who were sitting 
at their evening meal. These sent out one of their men 
to usher the new comers into the presence of their 
chief* When these, about twenty in number, were 
admitted to the camp with some brief greetings, no 
eomfllunication^ of-their adventures was given until, the 
repast being finished, they formed, for that end, a vast 
circle around the blazitig fire. The women, children, 
and old men kneeling down in various attitudes formed 
the inner circle, whilst the warriors stood on the outside 
of the ring. To the pensive eyes of Livingston, and 
even to those of Conrad, the spectacle before them had 
something top novel and interesting to permit their suf- 
ferings to divert their attention. The light of the fire, 
often obscured by curling columns of smoke, discovered 
to the beholders the fentastick figures of the savages, in 
various attire; their postures more various still ; but all 
observing the solemn silence of respect, and the devoted 
immobility of attet^tion. Long after all had assurared 
their station, and stillness reigned around, unbroken, 
savfe by the crackling of the consuming wood, the dark 
chief rose ; and> stepping into the circle, he addressed 
the strangers with a deep boltow voice, in the language 
of the Mohawks. His speech and the following dis- 
courses ifrere not understood by the two captives, 
otherwise than by the very expressive gestures of the 
apeakjers; but availing ourselves of the privilege 



I 



104 

v?hich we have already claimed, we shall save our 
readers the trouble of translating the Indian languageSj 
which we understand ourselves in all its dialects. 

" Brothers " said he, " the sun that has risen shines 
bright upon us. Its light is about to dazzle our ene* 
mies, while it leads us on to the path, from which we 
may crush them to the last. From the fields of ice to 
the warm plains where the alligator lives, from the great 
lake to the farthest 'mountains where the sun sets, the 
same light glitters in the eyes of our red brathers." 

" Brothers, the scum of the great lake once brought 
forth the white invaders of our land, and a storm 
washed them on our shores. The great sun will now 
send such fires that the froth shall dry ; and its sub- 
stance, with the new race, shall be scorched into dust, 
that the wind shall scatter in the air. 

*' Brothers, the hatchet is now raised every where ; 
we must all strike, until those are destroyed who step- 
ped on our fields. They would spoil us of the ground 
where lay our fathers' bones ; but their bones only shall 
tell our sons of their presence here ; for their flesh shall 
be burnt, and their scalps shall float and decay at our 
doors. 

" Brothers, this day has shown to us the predictions 
bi*eathed by my mouth, when conversing with the Great 
Spirit. Last night I dreamed — I dreamed that I met 
with the foe. The dream came from above^ for I 
thought I crushed the white man, and drank of. his 
blood ; and so it came to pass. " " 

" Brothers, we fell upon the band that sought our 
lives, and we slew them. Yon scalps shew that my 
words are true. Tlie living flesh, we have brought also, 
that their blood may be spilt slowly by the hands of all, 
and their ashes may be spread over the graves of our 
dead* 

" Brothers, we will now listen • to your tales. Omr 
ears are attentive." 

Saying this, he retreated a few steps, but -stayed 



106 

wrthin the circle, ami bending his prophetick bead to tb« 
blaze ai his feet, be stood in silence in a fixed auitude,^ 
as if awaiting the inspiration of a supernatural power.* 
Then rose one of the savages to whom he had just 
spoken, and after a pause, seemingly to collect bifi 
thoughts, the wild orator raised his hand and said, 

^* Brother, we KpTveTjeen mindful of thy words. We 
traced the track of Tadeuskund, and sawhis motions, 
though he'could not see our own. Darkness was over 
his eyes., and blinds him siill. The Great Spirit, whp 
gives thee knowledge, and tells thee his will, revealed 
to thy ear tlie witchcraft of Avvannon. He misled 
Tadeuskund, and inclined his heart to the whites. We 
spied him alone, and brought him before thee. 

" Brother, we place him in thy .hands. ^Whether he 
be led by the evil spirit, thou who canst see in darkoesa 
or in light will judge. Thy ear knows the^voice of the 
Great Mannitto. Thy mouth sh$)l speak his will." 

Having said this, the Indian, ere he retired, ushered 
ioto the ring a stout savage unarmed, but whose limbs 
were unsliackled by fetters. He stepped firmly forward, 
till be nearly reached the centre of the assembly ; then 
stopped, and turned slowly around a brow on which di- 
jection, in spite of hjs efforts, was but too visible. 
It seemed not to be fear, but rather shame or re- 
morse that spoke in the anxious glances that he would 
fain have concealed from the crowd. When his eye 
encountered the ferocious countenance of the dark 
chief, he started, as .if he had found in him a mortal 
foe ; but hatred plainly dispelled from his brow the 
shade of confusion, which had obscured it, before his 
former brothers. He then stood stUl, erect and un- 
moved, awaiting the decision of his fate, which, while 
be read it in the grim frowns of the prophet, be spurned 
to avert or postpone. The chief spoke not; and for a time, 
during which the stillness of death seemed to hush the 
very sounds of the fire, his eye^ retrained firmly fixed on 
ibe embers, where he appeared to read some fantastick 



106 

characters, in the accidental ruins of the consuming 
wbod. But gradually his eye-balls began to swell out 
. of their sockets ; his lips were alternately depressed and 
protruded. His respiration, previously not visible, be- 
came deep, though seemingly oppressed. His hands 
were clenched, while his toes contracted from the 
ground, ceased to minister stability to his liinbs. In the 
meanwhile, his frame was convulsed with spasms, and 
^ the cold drops streamed from his trembling flesh. He 
staggered, he advanced, he recoiled. At last, seized 
with a convulsive agony, he leaped from the earth, and 
fell on the sand, where he rolled with prophetick rage. 
.After a while, bis contortions ceased, he lay in the sleep 
of inspiration, orinnhe silent, invisible communion with 
the victorious spirit ; then raising his head with a dis^ 
traded stare, and casting on the fervent crowd a look 
of prophecy, in an instant, he sprung from the dust, and 
stretching forth his arm, spoke thus — 

"The Great Spirit came down, and spoke. My eyes 
have seen ; my ear has heard. Rejoice, ye brave, re- 
joice. Our enemy shall bleed. Our land shall be free. 
The smoke of their fires shall disperse, and their hands 
shall kindle no more, whilst the deer and the bear, in 
herds, shall people their towns. Rejoice. The evil 
spirit has lent his art to the last. The last slave of mis- 
chief is here. He can no more betray. His power is 
gone ; for the Great Spirit has spoken. His voicfe was 
like the thunder ; and he said, I have sent thee the 
- wizard ; slay him. He is the last ; and every hat^;het 
shall be lifted on thy land ; and the red men shall flock 
like the locust on the trees ; and before thy bands the 
white race shall vanish as the snow melts before the sua. 
Rejoice ; the day is fcome. See the brand that I hold ! 
When cast in the forest, it will kindle a great fire that 
■ will spread over the land to the farthest hills. So would 
.our enemy invade our fields, and consume ouf tribes, 
but put oiit the first spartc, and no fire can waste ouy 
land/' 



107 

Having thus prepared the superstitious band to minis- 
ter to his fatal inspirations, he advanced towards Awan- 
Don, vfho stood unmoved on ihe same spot, and smiled 
ghastly upon his frantick oppressor. Awannon had not 
had one doubt.on the decree, which must terminate his 
h'fe. He made a sign expressing his resignation ; but 
intimated a desire once more to address his offended 
brothers. Loud acclamations from the whole expressed 
assent to his request. 

" Brothers," said he, casting a look on all around, 
** ray fear is not of death. Dangers I have sought when 
near you and afar. I fear nothing but shame. That 
alone gives me breath to speak. To speak^ — not foi^ 
life ; I spurn the thought, — ^but to open your eyes, for 
you are in darkness. 

" Brothers, I left you for Tadeuskund, though my 
heart was with you. But Wancoraand knows the cause ; 
he knows that I would rather meet with the bear or the 
panther in the woods, than tread over smooth fields 
where snakes lay under the grass, and sting him who 
cannot see his enemy. 

" Brothers, Wancommand hated me when a child, 
he hated me when a man. But he hated not tny 
witchcraft. I knew no witchcraft. He hated the eyes 
that had seen the nightly wolf in ambush on the path 
of the weak. He hated the mouth that could by words 
give knowledge of his snares. 

" Brothersi, you know I wish not to turn off the 
tomahawk that hangs over my head. I am content to 
die. I wish to die; but I have sought to speak, that 
you might know my heart is clear. I have served 
Tadeuskund, because I loved him. I have not blinded 
him by charms. But my brothers, one thorp stings me 
still. I left your fires, and my father, and his father's 
bones; I grieve that I did; for it was better to fall 
under Wancomand's tomahawk, than live to be thought 
a vile fugitive by my brothers." 

These la£t words he spoke in a tone of the most 



103 

. melancholy feeling. He seemed in his looks to claim 
death as a favor, provided shame might not stain hid 
memory in their hearts; and when he read in their 

' eyes steaKng sympathy and forgiveness, fearing as it 
were, lest the granting of his life^ liiight destroy their 
returning esteem, he hastened to terminate his speech, 
" Brothers; think not ill of me when my body sleeps 
in the earth ; for I love strength hke you, and despisd 
death. I have spoken, Wancomand ', no more shall 
be said. Follow thy path." 

Saying this, he stooped before him, and silently 
awaited the Mow, which was about to restore him iri 
exchange of his life, the estimation of his deluded 
Drothers. Wancomand, impassive in his looks, as in 
his. will, had suffered him to speak, well assured that 
impatience would betray his earthly animosity ; whilst 
a word from his mouth, could dispel compassion from 
the breast of those, whom his arts maintained in th^ 
-adamant chains of superstition ; and who dared not, in 

! their thraldom, cherish the least doubt upon his power 

I to penetrate through the mysteries of the ftrture and the 

'^ past. 

" Hear ye," said he, " the words of deceit from thd 
wizard ? His tongue shall ho more speak sounds of 
falsehood. The evil spirit has made the last effort id 
free the serpent from the talons of the eagle. But it 
is all in vain. The Great Mannitto is in me. He 
speaks ; and niy tongue echoes. He commaiKls ; and 
I obey." • 

Disdaining to expatiate any longer upon the divine 
rights usurped by his imposture, he stepped forward, 
and drawing a circle in the dust with the end of his 
tomahawk around him, he cast the brand, which he still 
held, high in the air above his head. It fell at his feet, 
and the unburnt extremity fixed itself in the ground, 
resembling the consuming stump of a young tree. 

" The charm is over," said Wancomand, " and this 
shall be the fire that must burn his flesh and whiten his 
bones from the stain made by the evil spirit.** 



109 

He had hardly uttered these words when he sprung 
suddenly towards his unresisting victim ; and raising 
his heavy weapon with both hands, he, at one blow, r 
buried its extremity in the skull of the wretched man, 
who fell senseless at his feet. Then turning round with 
the glance of a hawk, over its palpitating prey, he 
seemed to drink the joy of revenge, satiated with im- 
punity, and of ambition nurtured by unopposed success^ 
At the moment when he enjoyed his triumph over hu- 
man weakness ; and was about to accomplish the 
deluding sacrifice, a female voice was heard at a dis* -^ 
lance ; and its sounds bad in their vibrations such a 
CbriHing influence, that Wancomand himself could not 
refrain from lending an attentive^ ear. The notes, now 
shrill, then grave, conveyed to the mind an unwonted 
impression of inquietude and painful emotions. As the 
voice became more audible, it seemed it must be that i 
of a maniac, roving alone in the wilderness. It was a ^ 
aong, the words of which we will thus translate : 

'^ List, list to the owl as it hoots, on the trunk of the 
old hollow pine. Its voice sounds shrill in the mom, 
Ifaough it sounds more shrill in the still midnight. 

^^ Hist, hist ; hear the owl as it hoots. The birds 
Crowd in the shade near its hole, and deafen the thief 
with their chirps. For they all have a hate of the bird 
of the night." 

<' Look, look ; how it stares on the birds. As the 
owl hates the light of the ^un, so they hate him that 
lurks in the pine. But beware, little birds, of the owl 
at midnight." 

The voice uttering those words rose louder and 
louder ; and when the last notes were heard, the till 
then invisible songstress seemed to have reached the 
border of the copse, which faced the circular inclosure 
of rocks on the other side of the rill. 

Two Indians bounded forward, at a sign of Wan- 
comand^s hand ; and in a moment returned, leading an 
unresisting maid, who leaped over the rivulet as a fawn. 
10 



110 

Her simple dress was disordered, and her dark locks 
freed from the restraining band, floated in profusion 
over her face, which they concealed from the curious 
gaze. She approached the circle; and when arrived 
at its limits, she stopped qn a sudden, casting a furtive 
glance on the assembly, through the ebony forest of her 
hair. Then uttering a low scream checked by a laugh, 
she made one or two steps of an Indian dance ; but' 
presently paused, as if abashed, and inclined to retire. 
~ *^ She has lost her reason," said one of the savages ; 
'' we owe her respect and our pity, for she is like one 
on the great lake in a skiff, without oars or a sail." 

'^ Alan ought to spare and to help those who have a 
cloud over their minds. They cannot see the right 
path," was repeated by many of the band. 

" Bring her in my sight," said Wancomand, " ttat I 
may know, whether a witch has cast acharm." 

One of the Indians ^oBer@d to execute the command 
of the dark chief; but she sprung from his grasp with 
fantastick motions of her arms, and, singing in a half 
suppressed tone, she repeated— 

*^ Hist, hist ; hear the owl as it hoots. As the owl 
bates the light of the sun, so they bate him that larks 
in the pine. But beware, little birds, of the owl at 
midnight." 

But suddenly altering her purpose, she sprung for- 
ward, and entered the circle, near the edge of wtricb, 
however, she paused once more ; then, as if anxious to 
be known to the crowd, she threw back ber head, and 
shook from her face the locks, by which, till then, it 
had been completely veiled. 



Hi 



CHAPTER VII. 



And fixed on empty space, why barn. 
Her eyes with momentiry wildness? 
And wherefore do they then return. 
To more than woman's mildness, 
Dishevelled are her raven locks. 
And oft amidst the lonely rocks. 
She sings sweet madrigals. 

CyCoiriroR^s ChiId. 

Livingston, who had listened, and observed this 
new spectacle with breathless curiosity, recognised at 
once, in this poor maniac, with a mixture of joy, sor- 
row, and doubt, the same heroick female whose charms 
and actions had left indelible impression in bis mind. 
How she so suddenly could have been bereft of that 
divine gift, more precious to man than life, he could 
neither understand nor admit as a painful reality ; but 
resolved to^watch every movement and word of a being 
already made so interesting to bis imagination* 

" Elluwia," said Wancomand, " is it you whom we 
find thus ? Are you sporting with our knowledge ? Or 
has a storm cast confusion in your thoughts f " 

The maid, with an arch grimace, turned on one foot, 
swiftly before him ; and once more repeated, 

" As the owl hates the light of the sun, so birds hate 
him that lurks in the pine." 

" Hear me, Elluwia," said Wancoroand, " tell me 
what befel in your path." 

" On my path, I have spied the black snake. It 
had charmed a poor screaming little bird ; but I crushed 
the head of the snake," replied, Elluwia. 

" Say, I command thee, by the Great Mannilto, what 
those words conceal," said Wancomand. 

*' I have seen the ea^e dive in the wave, and the 
wolf, borne on wings, chase the fawn through the air." 

^' Darkness is surely over her mind," said Wanco- 
mand ; " let me pierce through the -shadow of night," 



112 

Saying this,-he seized the yielding maid with one 
hand, took her near the enormous fire, the blaze of 
which rose in high columns in the air ; and placing her . 
in the enchanted ring, formed by him for his sacrifice, he 
paused ; but Elluwia, who had not, till then, cast her eye 
to that spot, perceived, and at once recognised the pros- 
trate body of the victim, at her feet. She uttered a 
loiid shriek, and attempted to escape from the sight of 
the slain and his executioner ; but Wancomand's iron 
grasp arrested her progress, and in the meanwhile sup- 
ported her, tottering and trembling, with horror in her 
looks. 

" Elluwia," said Wancomand, ** let not death Icrrify 
thee. He does but sleep. The evil spirit has aban- 
doned him." 

The affrighted maid, who seemed to have betrayed 
her reason in the confusion of the moment, perceived 
the danger instantly, and hastened to subdue every 
feeling that could thwart her present purpose ; in con-» 
sequence, she forced herself to look upon her bleeding 
friend ; and with a smile, a distracted smile indeed, she 
continued, 

" O strange ! O strange ! that a burning pine should 
seem a man. My eyes are dizzy with the flame. The 
sight burns me. Pray throw water on the flaming head ; 
the hair blazes ; see how he stares, and frowns. But 
no, no ; it is a burning"* pine. Trees cannot feel. Oh ! 
how strangely things appear. My breath leaves me ; 
the cloud is heavy on my heart." • 

" Beware of Wancomand," said the dark chief, " he 
sees thoughts in the heart. He knows when the adder 
winds in the shade. Beware of laying snares in his 
path; for his eyes are open. I will blow the mist 
away, if a wizard has tried his art over thee." 

Saying this, Wancomand renewed the circle round 
the maid, who stood 'unmoved by his threat ; and taking 
some ashes in his hand, he threw it over her head in 
the air, extended his arm above her ; and after remaining 



113 

10 the same attitude awhile, he spoke in a hoarse, pro- 
phetick voice, 

** The great Mannitto thunders in my ear. He bids 
thee speak. Say how that cloud rested on thy mind." 
- " I see no cloud over me ; though raethinks I see a 
mighty hand. The sun shines ; the sky is clear ; no 
cloud is seen." 

. " Speak on thy life, speak," said the grim impostor ; 
'* say what caused thee to stray from thy path ? " 

" Hist, hist," said Elluwia, placing one of her fingers 
on her mouth ; " speak low ; tell them not the path I 
trod ; they will slay me, as they slew Tadeuskund." 

" Tadeuskund ! " exclaimed the prophet, " is he 
slain ? Speak, Elluwia, speak !" 

" Oh ! I entreat thee, spare poor Elluwia, spare her 
life. I know thou wast one of them. But how didst 
thou find my steps ^ I know thy voice. Thou hast 
killed my father. I see the blood yet ; h drops ; hear 
how he groans ! Oh ! spare Elluwia. But no ; there 
was a mist over my face ; it fades away. Surely thou 
art not a white man ; thy skin is red, and painted with 
Indian figures ; thy face is blackened for war. No, thou 
didst not slay Tadeuskund. But pray, do not tell the 
white man Elluwia breathes." 

" Tadeuskund ^gone ! Hear ye this, brothers ? The 
last friend of the whites, like the sheep, falls under the 
hand that he leaned upon. The charm is broken. 
Rejoice ! the words of the Great Mannitto, breathed 
by my mouth, sound yet in your ears. The stormy 
cloud bursts, and we shall tread on the bodies of the 
fiend." 

" Ah ! is it then so," said Elluwia ; *' dost thou hate 
the w^iites .'^ Oh ! I hate the panther and the wolf, but 
those seem fawns and doves, when 1 think of the whites. 
Hark! I hear the iron thunder in their hands ; hide 
me ; they would slay Elluwia." 

In reality, at the same moment, the distant report of 
a musket was heard, and seenjed to verify the words pf 
10* ^ 



114 

the distracted Elluwia. The Indians were startled bj 
the noise, and rose from their places, seizing their arms, 
and drawing nearer to the chief and the maid. In the 
meanwhile, she seemed suddenly to have lost the re* 
collection of all, and resumed her ' song, which she 
again interrupted with sportive attitudes, expressing al« 
ternately, wild feelbgs of mirth, and various shades of 
ecstacy. 

*' My heart is joyful. I love to see you assembled 

lor a dance ; sisters, let us join in a ring. Let us be 

merry. Do you hear the thrush on the ash ; it sings 

over its young, while the mother brings them food. 

/ Come, sisters, join merrily in the dance." 

" Elluwia," said Wancomand, " tell to my ear more 
of this. •! must, I shall draw the truth from thy breath.' 

'* See, sisters, see the crow on the cypress ; it is 
cawing at me ; for I spied it feeding on my favorite 
fawn, the fawn that died this morn. The sight of the 
crow is gloomy in my eye." 

" Hark ye," said Wancomand, " speak, or fear the 
death of Awannon and Tadeuskund." 

" Awannon ! Tadeuskund ! " repeated she slowly ; 
and at once the glee which shone on her beautiful face 
vanished, as the brilliant colours of the prism fade 
away, when removed from the rays of the sun. She 
cast around a fearful glance ; recoiled, bowing her 
head low to the earth ; and then raised it slowly again^ 
preserving a bending posture, in the while ; and throw- 
ing stolen looks on the crowding throng, she glided 
cautiously, like a person fearing to he observed ; seized 
Wancomand by the hand, aiid ^aid, 

'^ Oh ! I could tell a tale of blood, but I fear their 
ears and their tongues. They list^ and watch me. 
Those whites would slay me, if I speak before them. 
Come with me in the shade. Thy hair shall stand 
when thou hearest." 

She took Wancomand, at a distance from the rest, 



115 

and haying looked around with anxious care, she con- 
tinued, 

^' Long ago I knew Awannon, and Tadeuskund too^ 
be called me his daughter, and I loved him. But one 
day, near the Tortoise rock, ten white men fell upon 
him, as we followed the path to Wyoming ; they killed 
my father in spite of my cries ; and kept me a slave to 
carry me far away ; but at night, as they slept near the 
Tortoise rock, I broke from their chains, and roved for 
years in the woods. The frost has chilled my heart.'' 

To Wancomand, the intelligence was full and satisfac* 
tory. He therefore no longer permittC-d EUuwia to delay 
his project; and breaking from her feeble grasp, he joihed 
his associates, whom he acquainted with the discovery 
which he had made of the presence of another small 
party in the vicinity. He intimated to them his reso« 
lution instantly to proceed to the well known place, 
mentioned by Elluwia, for the purpose of sacrificing in 
their sleep a few more victims to the vengeance and 
destruction, which he had vowed against the white race. 
The vindictive sons of the woods welcomed the news, 
as another opportunity to accomplish the prediction of 
the prophet, whose words they tamely believed and 
obeyed. They instantly prepared themselves for the 
expedition ; and ere Wancomand himself had given the 
necessary orders for the safety of the camp, they were 
all up with their arms, intent upon his commands, and 
the signal for their departure. Wancomand ordered 
four warriors to remain as guards to the captives, whom 
he^ caused previously to be secured with firmer bands ; 
and having addressed a short invocation to the Great 
Spirit, he signed his men to follow him one by one, in 
a file. In the meanwhile Elluwia, who, from some 
pistrust still lingering in his mind, had been likewise 
ordered to attend his train, in her turn was doomed to 
depart ; but as it was decreed that she should follow 
with the last, lest her exclamations might inform the 
enemy of their approach} she profited by a moment 



116 

when her guards were less watchful of her actions, and 
approaching nearer to Livingston, before whom she 
now passed with her guides, whispered in his ear, " Be 
strong ;" the sanoe words which the Indian chief had 
addressed to his deliverer, on the same morning. But 
as she perceived that Livingston, in his transport of ad- 
miration for her stratagem (for he began to understand 
her design), was about to betray her, and himself by 
the expressions of his gratitude, she turned hastily from 
him, with a loud note that might drown the sound of 
his voice in her own ; and springing lightly as a bird, 
» she sung with the sweetest voice — 

" On the rock I would climb with my fawn ; with the 
fawn that I fed with my hands. On the peak of the 
cliff I would sit ; I would sit where the eagle abides ; 
and there I could gaze till the sun shines no more." 

Presently, with the last of the ba»d, she vanished 
from Livingston's sight, and soon after, even the notes 
of her voice ceased to sound in the air ; though, for a 
long time, when all was hushed around^ they continued 
to vibrate in his ear. Her sudden departure, and the 
f seeming return of her insanity, plunged him anew in a 
; maze of conjectures. Was she really distracted by 
sorrow ; and were the words addressed to him, but the 
/ accidental consequence of a disordered imagination ? 
1 Or was she actuated by motives of exalted gratitude to 
J assume a new character, thai she might delude and de- 
coy the enemy, to obtain his liberty f The thought that 
the interesting object of his constant musings bad so 
suddenly been bereft , of her reason, was too galling to 
endure ; and he loved to soothe himself with the bright 
romantick visions, in which he had long indulged, and 
which he still hoped to realize. However it might be, 
he hardly regretted the loss of his freedom^ since his 
captivity had been the occasion of his beholding once 
more the darling subject of his meditations through the 
day. That fond thought seemed, at least for a time, to 
alleviate the attacks of the increasing fever, which, un- 
felt by himself, continued its silent progress 



117 

Hardly were the warriors departed, when the remaining 
females and infants sought, in the arms of sleep, to assuage 
their care and- relieve the toils of the day; and ere many 
minutes had elapsed, their minds and their limbs reposed 
already in a still, deep sleep. Even the guards, trusting in 
the strength of the fetters which bound the limbs of their 
prisoners, the guards, reclined on the ground, had com- 
posed themselves to rest ; and all there seemed in the 
stillness of night, to slumber, in harmony with the calm 
of the hour and of the scene. The fire, nearly extin- 
guished, had sunk into a heap of slumbering ashes, and 
dozing embers, which, save a few rare sparks, straying 
in the dingy fields of air, and those vivid and swift har- 
bingers of extinction, that one sees floating on the ruins 
of an expiring fire, had ceased to throw light sufficient 
to efface or obscure the trembling rays of the moon. 
On this calm scene, Livingston had gazed till his eye^ 
grew dim and dizzy, when he was struck by sounds 
well known to his ear ; but so unexpected in such a 
desert, that, for a lime, he doubted whether he should 
credit the accuracy of his senses, or rather attribute th« 
sensation to the dreams of a restless sleep, in which h^ 
had sunk at last.* The sounds proceeded from a raas^ 
culine voice, correct and soft in its tones, gently hum- 
ming one of those songs, so common in Paris, which, 
the work of a moment, created by accident or whim, 
are rung in every lane for a week, or a month at most ; 
and when forsaken by fashion, sink into inevitable ob* 
livion, superseded by others which are permitted to rise 
to the same favour, then doomed to sleep in the samj 
obscurity. These were the words — 

Heureux et sans envie, 
Le vio, la table, et les amours 
('oot tout le channe de ma vie, 
A boire je passe mes jours, 
Ou dans le^ bras de mon ainie, 

Aimant buvant toujours. 

Tant que Tenfant aimable 
Saura si bien flatter mon coeur. 



• 1"18 

Son seul rival sera la tabl«. 
S*il lalsse glacer mon ardeur, 
Alors Bacchus pour moi plus stable 
Sera mon seul tuteur. 

Livingston, who had lent his attention to these words, 
was now intent upon the examination of the person 
who uttered them. It was one of his guards, who had 
reclined his head against a tree for a pillow, and seem- 
ed with his song to invoke the return of sleep. The 
luoon shone brightly then, and permitted Livingston to 
confer on the figure and dress of that man a scrutiny, 
which the bustle of the previous scene, and the partial 
obscurity had not suffered him to bestow. He was at- 
tired in the Indian garb, and in dres^ did not materially 
differ from the rest ; but the comparative fairness of 
his skin, his shorter stature, and above all, his features 
distinguished him as an European. The good nature 
"expressed on his countenance, contrasted with, the fero- 
city characterising that of his associates, as much as his 
chanson du Pont JVevf contrasted with the stillness of 
the desert where he modulated his voice. Placed near 
Livingston, and so situated as to observe his face, he 
remarked by a transient smile extracted from his lips, 
that he understood or at least recollected his song ; he 
seemed delighted with the thought, and raising his head 
from its support, addressed Livingston in a language so 
•well understood by most of our readers, that we shall 
entreat them to save us the labour to translate it, as we 
have dane the less fashionable Indian dialects. 

* " Monsieur parte Francois a ce queje voisy^ said 
^e, with an inclination of the head. 

" I do not speak it," said Livingston, " but a resi- 
dence that I made in France enables me to understand 
it." 

f " Oh ! Monsieur, je n^en doute pas, le parle aussi 
hien que moi. Je suis sur que c^ est par modestie que 
vous vous refusez a parler.^^ 

* " You speak French, sir, I perceive." 

f " Oh, sir, I doubt it not, you speak it as well as I do. I am sure that 
it is only through modesty that you refrain from speaking." 



11« 

^* 1 really never could pronounce the language, und 
assure you I never spoke it." 

* J 'en svis vraiment au disespoir^ car U y a si 
long'iemps queje n*a% entendu un mot de Frangois quA 
je donnerois tout au monde^ pour entendre tune voix hu- 
maine parler ma langue. Mais comme feniends fort 
bien VAngloisy nous nous arrangerons comme celajfaute 
de mieux* Au moins faurai le plaisir de nC entendre 
parler. Je suis Franfois^ monsieur j Parisien ; je pre^ 
^ume a voire accent que vous etes Anglo-Americain ? " 
.^'^^ lam not an American, sir 5 England is my coun- 
try." 

f " Je vous jure que je m*en serois doute a vos 
manieres ; il y a quelque chose de releve chez les An^ 
glois qu^on ne irouve pas chez les Americains ; ils ont : 
touts Pair bete,^^ - 

" Far from that, I have met with raiore urbanity and , 
refinement in the country at large than I had anticipat- 
ed in so new a colony." 

' t " Oh,je ne dis pas, qn*il n^y ait des gens comme il 
faut id comme ailleurs. Jeparlois seulemeni despaysans. 
Mais ce n^est pas de cela quHl s^agit, II faut que vous 
sachiez que je suis id en qualite d^ambassadeur, pour 
exciter les sauvages a vousfaire la guerre. Dans le 

*I am truly in despair; for it is such a long time since I have heard a 
word of French, that I would give all the world to hear one human voice 
speak my own language. But as I understand English, we will arrange it 
in that way for want of a better. At least 1 shall have the pleasure of 
hearing myself speak. I am a Frenchman, sir,— a Parisian. I presume, 
by your accent, that you are an Anglo-American.'* 

f ** I protest to you, that I should have suspected it myself, by your 
manners. There is something noble among the English, that we do not 
find in the Americans ; they have ail a foolish air."' 

I ** Oh I I do not say that there are not some well-bred people here, as 
well as elsewhere. I was only speaking of the 'peasants. But it is not 
that which is in question. You must know that I am here in quality of an 
ambassador, to excite the savages to make war against you. In Canada 
we should piefer being French rather tlian English ; and though Quebec 
and Montreal are taken, we hope still to drive you from us ; but this cannot 
lie done without the assistance of' the savages, and we have succeeded in 
persuading them to it. I would wish then to tell you, that having creat 
empire over the spirit of Wancomand, I offer you my services, with all my 
heart. * Miseris succurrere disco.' I do not love the English, I acknowledge, 
but I am a man, like you, and you are in affliction.'* 



120 

Canada nous aimerions nUeux etre Francois qu* An- 
glois ; et quoique Quebec et Montreai soient pris^ nous 
espkrons encore vous chasser de chez nous ; mats cela^ ne 
peut sefaire sans le secovrs des sauvages^ et nous sommes 
venus a bout dt les y persuader. Je voulois done vous 
dire qu^ayant beaucoup d*empire sur Pesprit de Van^ 
eoman^je vous offre mes services de tout mon caur. 
Miseris succurrere disco. Je n^aime pas les Anglais, jt 
Vavoue^ mais je suis homme, comme vous^ et vous ites 
dans le mcdheurJ^ 

^' I thank you for your kindness, sir," said Livingston, 
*^ but I fear I should tax your good will too heavily, 
were I to accept your offer, for I should ask you to 
assist my companion and myself to break our bonds 
and to escape ; and I well know that such a service 
conferred upon us would endanger your life." 

* " C^est vrai ; il ne faut pas plaisanter avec T^an- 
- coman ; je sais bien que c^est un diable incarne ; tnaisje 
serois charmi de vous rendre quelque service^ sije le 
puis sans manquer a mon devoir, ^^ 

** Once more do I thank you for the proffer of your 
kindness ; but I cannot think of any boon that might 
be asked from your hands, in my present situation. If 
I am not soon relieved from these bonds, I must expect 
tortures, and the speediest death, to terminate my bodi- 
ly sufferings, which nothing can now alleviate." 

f " Je ne puis disconvenir de tout cela^^^ said the 
French savage with a sigh ; and drawing near to the • 
prisoners, speaking very low, he continued, t* Entre^ 
nous soit dit^je vous conseille de vous sauver au pluiot 
si vous le pouvez ; ces animaux la quidorment comme 
t des souches, vous grilleront demain sanspitie^ si vous ne 
' prenez la clef des champs,^* 

* "It is true, one must not jest with Wancomand. I know well that he 
is a devil incarnate ; but I should he charmed to render you any service, if 
I can do it, without failing in ray duty." 

f *• I cannot deny all that, — between us, let it be said— I advi?e you to 
escape as soon as you can ; those animals there, who sleep like stumps, 
Will roast you to-morrow, without pity, if you do not scamper away." 



I2r 

*' But what means could ypu advise ? Bound as we 
are, we have but a poor chance to get loose." 

* " Mafoijje ne puis rien vous conseUler let dessus ; 

je ne puis meme, en bonne conscience, vous preter main 

forUy maije vous promcts de dormir d*un sommeil im- 

^kwmrbable si vous trouvez les moyeus de vous degager 

de vos liens/* 

" Whether your good will naay avail us or not, re- 
ceive now the e^cpression of our gratitude." 

f " Et ce monsieur^ la,^^ said the Parisian, pointing to 
Conrad, who listened with his eyes, as it were, from his 
devoted attention to the discourse, ^^est^il Anglois^ 
aussi9 H ne dit pas grand* chose.'*^ 

** He was born in Germany," was the reply. 

X^^Ahjha; vraimeni! Je m'en serois' douie a ses 
gros yeux* Our econnoit facUemeni les Allemands i 
leurs visages. Du reste^j^aime les Allemandsj moi ; Us 
sont francs^ honnetes et serviables ; et d*ailleurs ce sont 
eux qui nous ont oppris a valser. Bon soir, messieurs ; 
je vats dormir : puissiez vous ne pas mHmiier ; et pro» 
Jiier de Voccasion. 

Saying this, he returned to his place, turned himself 
on his rural couch for some time ; humming another 
song, and at last went to sleep, or at least seemed to 
slumber in peace. Whilst Livingston, abandoned to his 
solitary reflections could not help wondering in the 
gloom of his situation, at the strange contrast which 
this man offered, who, a native of the happiest clime^ 
one of that sprightly and polished nation, formed for 
grace aod subsisting on airy joys, should forsake Paris 

• " upon my word, I can advise you nothing thereupon. I cannot even 
is conscience lend you any assistance ; but I promise you to sleep an im- 
perturbable sleepf if you nnd the means of freeing yourself from your 
bonds." 

f "And this gentleman here, — is he English, also ?" 

\ ** Atu ha ! I should have suspected it, from hi» laige eyes. We may 
easily recc^ise the Germans by their faces. As to the rest, I like the Ger- 
mans. They are frank, honest, and obliging ; and besides, it is they who 
have learnt us to waHz* Good evening, gentlemen: I am going to sleep ; 
Oiay you not imitate me, but profit by l£e occasion.** 

11 



222 

and its feasts and splendour, and seek an abode in the 
deserts of America, among the savage natives, who - 
know of no palaces but their trees and their rocks, and 
are lulled in their sleep, on the turf, by the sighs of the 
wind, or the roar of the cataract« He wondered at the 
greater contrast in the character of those sons of FrAc^, 
who, though volatile in their tastes, easily allured by 
. gaudy novelties, and impatient in their aversions, yet 
are capable of assuming the uniform and severe liife of 
the American Indian, and find contentment in the mo- 
notony of the wilderness. He truly envied the cheer- 
fulness of the man before him, who, satisfied with 
having expressed his sympathy and bis willingness to 
oblige, could cast off the useless recollections of the 
past, and the vain feelings caused by other men's suf- 
ferings which cannot be relieved; and quietly could 
waive the thought of pain, by means of a song, calling 
oblivion to his aid, when oblivion wronged not the suf* 
ferer, while it soothed his own placid mind to rest. 

It was past midnight, and all around was hushed m 
the stillest repose. The breat^ of the wind, had ceased 
to agitate the smallest spray ; and such was the calm of 
the air, that even those withering leaves, the, former, 
splendour and pageant guardians of the trees, though 
loose, and hanging from habit, rather than from real 
suppon, clung silently to the parent stem, as if unwill- 
ing to relinquish their exalted abode to take their last 
embrace of the gale, on their journey to the bosom of 
rest and dissolution. The moon had begun to descend 
in its course, but poured still its Hght on the earth ; 
whilst millions of stars shone in the cerulean vault, 
where no cloud appeared to obscure the glory of the 
scene. > 

Livingston, unable to devise the least provable means 
of escape by his own efibrts, oppressed by want of 
sleep, exhausted by conjectures, doubts, and perplexity, 
Livingston began to yield to the influence of nature, 
and was about to close his eyes, weighed down by the 



^ 128 

e^iiberani^e of pain ; when, as his eyelids were once 
more raised, with that last impulse preceding sleep, he 
beheld, on the sand at bis feet, the far extending shadow 
of a man, lenghthening before him on the ground. 
He turned, and saw, on the lofty peak of a rock behind 
bimi^ the tall figure of an Indian, moving with caution 
on tiie elevated cliff, and seemingly in the act of observ- 
ing the camp. His almost gigantick form reminded him 
of the 6gure of the Indian, whom he no longer doubted 
was Tadeuskund himself. But distance and obscurity 
perraited not his conjectures to be realized into the 
rapturous prospect sketched in his mind by his fervid 
fency. The effect produced by the appearance of that 
roan was grand and solemn ; his awful figure, defined 
in the dark blue sky, having, as it were, the gemmeous 
field of stars for its back ground, seemed magnified in 
its size by its vicinity to the planet, which one, in days 
of fable, would have thought was placed there to illu- 
mine the devious path of the giant, striving to scale the 
exalted realms of the gods. 

The Ind|an for a while stood perfectly still ; and after 
surveying, as it were, the sleeping camp at his feet, 
turned cautiously from the cliff, and presently sunk be- 
neath the curtain of beetliag rocks, which limited the 
scene on that side. Some minutes elapsed, during 
which the pleasing hopes which Livingston had formed 
began to dissolve, as. the soothing effect of a dream ; 
when his attention was suddenly called to another di- 
rection. In the copse bordering the rill on the opposite 
side^ the cries and bowlings of various animals were 
heard ; so loud and terrific in their sounds, that in a 
moment the guards and several of the younger savages 
were rous^ from their sleep, and sprung instantly to 
their arms. The cries seemed to be those of some 
weaker animal, attacked and partly overcome by a 
panther, whose yells funded louder and more loud. 
The Indians, and those of the youths who were capable 
of bearing a bow or a club, resolved to advance in a 



124 

body to witness the combat, and derive, if possible, an 
advantage from the victory, by slaying the conqueror 
and its prey. Encouraged in their expedition by the 
Canadian, who represented to them the growing scarcity 
of provision in the camp, they hastened to pass the 
rivulet, and penetrated slowly into the shades of the 
wood. But ere he followed the rest, the French 
savage, unobserved, approached Livingston, and speak- 
ing low, with a good natured smile, he sai|| — 

'^ J^ai vu tout le manage tout en dormant. Je sais 
bien pourquoi les pantheres font tant de bruit cette nmt ; 
maisje n*en suis pas f ache pour vous* Je vats me mettre 
de la partiey parceqve j^ai reflechi quHl vaut a^tanifaire 
une promenade champetre, que de laisser id ma cheve" 
lure^ a laquelleje tiens un peu^ a la merci de votre ami 
Pediousgun. Safille et lui ne sont pas si bitesm Bon 
soir ; je vous souhaite un bon voyage J* 

Saying this, he wheeled round abruptly, and stepping 
with the agility of another Vestris, joined the baiM, 
which was already concealed in the gloom of the thick- 
et, from which the clamours departed. In^.the mean- 
while, the bowlings of the beast seemed now fainter, as 
if receding from the approach of man ; and gradualljr 
the sounds sunk lower and lower in the distance. 
Livingston, perplexed with hopes and doubt, could 
hardly realize the possibility of the Frenchman's inti- 
mation, and began to look upon it as a jest of the 
thoughtless foreigner ; when, turning round, he saw thMf 
same Indian figure rushing towards him, armed with a 
musket in one hand, and a large knife in the other* 
Though the face of the Indian was now smeared with 
black, Livingston could no longer hesitate to identify 
him with Tadeusknnd, when he saw him ap|p*oach, and 
hastening with his knife, to free him from his bonds, 
while he again repeated to him — "Be strong.*' A 
throng of females and their children were pressing for- 
ward, endeavouring to prevent, with their clamourous 
cries, the liberation of the prisoner. But an awing 



125 

gesture of tjbe chief at once repressed the ebbing 
crowd in their, design to oppose ; and even in their 
querulous accents. In a moment, Livingston was re- 
leased from his shackles, and urged by a sign 6f the 
Indian instantly to follow ; but turning to Conrad, the 
faithful sharer, of his misfortunes, he signified his reso- 
lution, not to'Bepart unless he also should be permitted 
to share the blessing bestowed upon hira. The chier 
paused awhne ; then cast a lool| of disdain on the in- 
timidated German (who was bereft even of the conso- 
lation of using his hands as an aegis to protect his locks); 
and seemed to upbr«!|% Livingston, by a glance, for his 
^regard for a being so contemptible in his eyes. But a 
movement of generosity removed at last his hesitation ; 
and he condescended to cut the ties, which bound the 
trembling limbs of Conrad ; and dreading further delay, 
seized him by the arm, and gave him an impulse coin- 
a JJ ing with the rapidity of progress, which he thoujght 
molspensable, to avoid the search of t|ie deluded eue- 
ray. Before leaving sight of the camp, he turned to 
the amazed flock of females; and intimated to them 
the danger attending an attempt on their part to follow 
his steps ; then plunged with Livingston and the Ger- 
man into the deepest of the forest, keeping his direc- 
tion, for a time, in the vicinity of the stream. 

Conrad, who, with the liberty of his limbs, had also 
j-ecovered that of his tongue, hastened to express his 
gratitude to his captain, for his generous intercession in 
bis favour* 

^' My fery kreat and roackoanimous captain, receife 
my tousands thanks, and my gratiiute for efer for your 
teigning to rememper your fery bumble servant in his 
tistress, and pelieve — " 

*• The tongue of the fool must cleave to his teeth," 
interrupted the Indian, '^ learn silence from the hare 
that taught thee to tremble." 

'* My nople king, your lordship will consiter that — " 
11* 



12« "* 

'^Tadeuskund will hear no voice, when voice caa 
betray." 

This answer, accompanied with a gesture of peremp- 
tory command, terminated, for the time, the grateful 
thanks of Conrad, who, in his simplicity, was made at 
last to comprehend that the sounds of human voice 
when heard usually bespeak the presenfe^f man. He 
Was therefore compelled, in silence, to follow the steps 
of his silent guide. 

They proceeded with as much rapidity, as the evident 
weakness of Livingston, and the weight of Conrad's boota • 
permitted ; and had travelled a^U^oosiderable distance, 
when reiterated whoops, proceeding from the directioa o£ 
the camp, apprized them of the return of the guards, 
and perhaps of Wancomai||l, with his warriors. Tadeus- 
kund stopped, lending an attentive ear to theHlbunds, 
and having once ascertained some peculiarity in the 
distant yells known to himself, he suddenly atteredjJu 
course, and beg^an to ascend a steep hill, on their riPS, 
on the barren soil of which no trees greW) exceipt a fejr 
dwarf oaks, here and there, among the rocks that pft^ra 
its surface. When they reached the summit of the 
hill, the liberated captives perceived that it extended 
far towards the west. The ground was strewed with 
such a number of scattered, broken rocks, that one 
could easily step from one to another, in any d|pction, 
without touching the earth with the foot; and that,lt 
seems, was the object which Tadeuskund had in vi^^ 
in altering the direction of his course, for he gave a 
strict ittjiuiction, particularly to Conrad, not to , suffer his 
boots to make the slightest impression on the turf. 1q 
the meahwhile, advitncing thus over the stones^ he found 
it urgent to support the steps of Livingston, who reeled 
in his walk, seemingly exhausted by fatigue, disease, and 
the swelling, which the shackles had occasioned on his 
limbs. Conrad, with all his blunt perception, began to 
remark, in his shortsightedness, the debility and paia 
endured by bis beloved captain and preserver; his 



^ 127 

S^xon heart was sensibly toached, and be bastened to 
libd him the support of his less wearied arm. But it 
^as soon asdertained, that bis good iotentioos were not 
crowned with the success on which he had firmly re- 
lied, in bestowing his well meant assistance ; lor as he 
caught a firm hold of Livingston's unoccupied arm, and 
strove to keep up with the Indian's pace, whilst he sup- 
ported, or thought to su^ort the lingering steps of his 
commander, it ^s perceived that his inability to step 
in time with the rest, or his eagerness to anticipate, laid 
him under the unconscious necessity of pullmg to and 
fro the body of Liviegston, who, Kke an exhausted pa- 
tittut submitting to the blundering operations of an un- 
skilful surgeon, had not the heart to retrieve his arm 
from^ unwelcome, but hgpjest grasp of the German. 

TJkuskund, however, soon perceived the impedi- 
ment; and less enduring than his adopted companion, 
unceremoniously pushed o£Fpoor Fritz from his station* 
taking due care in the meantime that be should not by the 

^oncussion hurry him into the grass, and thus leave signs 

* Wheir passage to the searching savages. After thus 
-travelling for a. considerable distance, they began to 
descend the gentle declivity of the billon which, as tbe 
stones became less abundant, the trees, in proportion 
increased in number. At last they reached a plain, 
wh^H^a thick copse . of laiger trees intercepted their 

.way. The»e a dense, autumnal fog, emanating from 

:the waters of a neighbouring pond, covered the earth, 

and obscured the raysi^of the moon, then quit^ low in 

its decline ; so much so, that, after having travelled 

. • awhile in the shades of these loftier woods, Tadeus- 
kund was frequently observed to examine on the trunk 
of the trees, the growth of the parasitick moss, which, 
unlike the sunflower in its constant rotation to the orb of ' 
light, thrives only on the side where the rays of the sun 
never shine. 

The wood extended far in the plain, and even cover* 
€d the slope of anptjier hill^ which the travellers iiad 



128 ^ 

already begun to ascend ; but here and there it was 
terspersed with ledges of rocks that wjy;e piled 
throwiT in the rude disorder of tlie vviioerness. The 
fugitives and their guide were approaching a small 
stream^ that was heard rushing down its rugged bed, 
among the accumulated fragmenis of broken cliffs and 
uprooted trees. These rninous remains in their acqi- 
dental arrangements formed a maze of arches, and 
dens, and caves, where the eye could Upt. penetrate, and 
seemed to offer a retreat for the wild tenants of the 
forests, as well as for the fugitive lord of the earth, 
when pursued by his victorious enemy. There Tadeus- 
kund paused ; turned around, casting a searching IgMl ; 
advanced a few steps, and paused again ; at last, at the 
foot of a huge pillar of roii^, erect on the brinWf the 
cleft, where rolled the brawling stream, he behffii the 
object which bis eye was seeking in the dubiousness of 
the night. He hastened to the spot, and discovered to 
Livingston, tinder the rude shelter of a number of fallen 
trees, laying over the ledge, a number of sleeping Jn^ 
dians, who slumbered thus ivithout a watch, or Tm^ 
protection bnt the retiredness of the place. Tadeus* 
kund approached one of them, who, in a half reclining 
•posture, slept on the cold flinty couch, having a tree 
for his pillow. He touched gently the shoulder of the 
Indian, who in a moment stood before his king. A bim 
Livingston recognised the young ^yage, who had been 
permitted to return to his chj^ and his friends with 
tidings of peace. ^ * 

**Thurensera," said Tadeuskund, *'the sky is clear ; 
and in my path all has been prosperous. Is EUuwia' 
come ? *' 

'* My heart is rejoiced to see ray king with breath. 
But Thurensera wonders that Elluwia has not followed 
thy steps. Her voice has not been heard ^Our eyes 
have not seen the daughter of the Trumpet of Wj^r. 

" My eyes would weep blood, were she lost from 
vcy sight ; but the Great Spirit 1|qows and sees* She 



V 



^129 

is TaiF, she is good. The Great Spirit loves the fair and 
the good," 

" *' He will knd her strength to return to her father, I 
trust," said Thurensera. ** When I grieved Tadeus- 
kund would not permit his friend to take his hatchet and 
follow the same path, I doubted not thy knowledge was 
true, and Wancomand should be blinded ; but I feared 
his arts of darkness, for thee and thy daughter. The 
white men are free ; but is Elluwia secure ? " 

*^ No sleep stwrll give me strength, nor shall these 
limbs have rest, till 1 see her again ; she wished to 
assist my'arm, when my arm was preparing to help the 
weak ; but I did wrong to permit, for my strength 
shddld waste if that caused her loss." 

As he said these words, Tadeuskund saw Livingston 
staggeidbefore him ; and had it not been for the timely 
assistance of Conrad, he would have sunk to the ground 
in a swoon. Nature in him was exhausted by the toil 
and the pain long endured with an exertion to overcome 
their attacks ; his mind could no longer sustain or fur- 
|)]s|), strength to his now debilitated limbs. Tadeuskund 
hastened to carry him upon a couch prepared with 
skins over the moss, and to lay over him the warm hide 
of 9 buffalo, whilst he caused a small fire to be made at 
his feet ; the light of which could not, in that recess, 
betray the presence of the band to the enemy. Having 
recor^ended his guest to the care of his friend, he 
instantly darted once.piore into the forest ; doubtless in 
quest of his beloved daughter. 



130 



CHAPTER Vm. 



When all around grew drear and dark. 

And reason half withheld her ray — 
An(i hope but shed a dying spark, 

Which more misled 'my lonely way ; 
Oh ! blest was thine unbroken light ! 

That watchM me as a seraph's eye, 
And stood between me and the ngbt, — 

Forever shining sweetly nigh. 



Btron. 



Is the meanwhile, Livingston being thus permitted 
at last to give rest to his fevered frame, wrapped in the 
soft warming garb of the wild tenants of the woods, 
sunk in a moment into a torpor resembling sleep, in 
which, whilst he obtained a partial oblivion of the pre- 
sent, he still had wild reminiscences or dreartis of the 
past. At first, the various objects and events of the 
day, crowded in vivid succession before his eyes ; and 
as they blended in order and in shape, formed a dance 
of strange phantoms, assailing incessantly his sight. 
Gradually those delirious images became more distinct ; 
and if they did not recall- reality, seemed at least to 
intimate the existence of more palpable objects. At 
times he saw great giants contending with legions of 
giants in arras ; now they closed in the fight ; and in 
their strife, as he saw the demons of war, deeply drink- 
ing their crimson nectar, on a sudden a mountain of 
crumbling rocks, shaken from its foundations by their 
blows, tumbled down with deafening noise, and buried 
in its wrecks the contending bands and their cries. 
Then a mournful silence followed, as if the cause of 
tumult and havock were drowned in the darkness and 
stillness of annihilation. But such moments, more ter- 
rifick than turmoil, were of short continuance ; and 
other 'scenes of disturbance soon returned in view. 

Among those grim messengers of death, one object 



131 

fixed his raving attention. With the greater curiosity 
his eyes sought its figure, as it seemed to avoid obser- 
vation ; and vanished ere he had succeeded fuNy in 
beholding its form. It was Uke the figure of a femaley 
attired in the garb of the iorests. She danced, and. her 
steps were lighter than the flight of the birds ; she sung, 
and her voibe was softer than the sighs of the breeze. 
But wiien she approached nearer to his gaze, he saw ■ 
one of the dark mq^sters of bloodshed rushing upon • 
her, with hate and malice on his face. 

At lasL he awoke from his trance, and as he looked 
around, the light of the rising sun*discovered to him, on 
one side his faithful Conrad fondly supporting his head ; 
and on the other, Elluwia herself, sitting on a rock, and 
holding a cup in her band. Perceiving that he was 
roused from his sleep, she offered him the beverage ; 
and said in English—^ 

" Friend of Tadeuskund, thy sleep is troubled, and 
fever is in thy veins. Elluwia has made a drink of the 
plant that we gather on the clifls. It will calm thy pain 
and qi^ench thy tbirst. The bees love to sleep on tbe 
flowers that give them their sweetest honey. This is 
made with the flowers that tbe bees seek in the morn. 
Drink, friend of Tadeuskund." 

'VMy fery peautiful and coot young princess," said 
Conrad, ** will you tell me the potanical name of the 
simble f My'kreat knowledge in physics may pe of some 
humble service to assist your chudgments." 

" In our language we call it the pride of the bees. 
For it, we know no other name-." 

" The bride of the peas is not one of the chenera of 
the kreat Linneus ; but possibly tiiat is only the specific 
name, or the nomen vulgareJ*^ 

^^ Be ^ured that we knew its sweetness before we 
gave it a name. The birds in the woods can find, with- 
out a name, the sweetest beiries for their young. 
Drink, friend of the brave^ drink of tlie juice that will 
bring sleep and take away pain." 



132 

Saying this, Elluwia, disregarding the long dfsquisi- 
tions of the German, brought the cnp to the lips of 
Livingston, who drank the draught with a glance of gra- 
titude to his fair physician, the only mark of acknowl- 
edgment which his strength permitted him to give ; 
while she stood, partly reclining before hiip, with that 
lovely expression, which characterizes the consciousness 
of having relieved sufTering humanity. Livingston, 
though unable to express bis thoughts, bad lei«|re to 
observe her, whom he had already manifold causes to 
admire. She was not tall, but the symmeli^ of her 
form, joined to the graiee and dignity of her movements, 
would have made her a model for perfection to the 
I most relSned artist. Her complexion, though in our 
i cities it might have seemed sunburnt, was unusually 
j fair, when compared with the other daughters of the 
I forests. Her jet blac* locks, also contrasted, by their 
I ^ softness, with the course hair of the Indian race. In a 
Word, she had the fioblest beauties of our fprms, united to 
the loftier lineaments of the savage tribes. Her lealufes 
were as regular as expressive, and beamed with the 
intelligence of an elevated mind. On her mouth par- 
ticularly were stamped firmness and strength, softened 
by a persuasive expression of sweetness and placidity ; 
while on her well formed, thotigh prominent lips, a cast 
of arch wit played in harmony with the v^vid lustre of 
her eye, which flashed deep penetration, through the 
veil of mirthful innocence. 

As she was still standing in the same attitude, taking 
perchance as favourable a survey of her Letcher's de- 
liverer, Tadeuskund himself appeared, and passing his 
sinewy arm round the neck of bis daughter, gazed upon 
her with parental fondness. 

'^ Elluwia," said be, ^' thy father is pleased srith thee. 
Thy art helped to save him, thy art will give him 
strength and health. Is the white friend asleep?" 

*^ His eyes have seen the light, and his lips have 
pressed my cup ; but heaviness is over him, and it 



133 

seeras he cannot speak ; for though there were words 
in his eyes, his tongue spoke not." 

" 1 see on his burning cheek the flashes of the heal 
that swells the blood in his veins. Those drops that 
stream down his brow, speak the fire that burns within 
him. What thinks Elluwia of his pain, and of the way 
to heal ? " 

" My hand prepared the beverage nnade of that herb, 
whieb the great Mannitto strewed with his own hand 
on our hills, that we might soothe and relieve the spirit 
that he Wew in our breasts." 

" My sweet Elluwia, like the best of the daughters 
of the free plains, knows all the secrets of the healing 
knowledge ; but I fe/ar the art of darkness may have 
been practised upon him by Wancomand, or some of 
his wily sorcerers. 1 have sent for Totoson, who can 
break the deepest spells of wizards." 

*' Father, dear father," said Elluwia, ** forgive a sim- 
ple girl, if she understands not his powers. Totoson's 
art, they say, is great, but Elluwia thinks in her foolish 
mind, his knowledge is so great, it can hardly serve us, 
poor, dying creatures. His works are with the spirits 
of the shades. We are, Jbwas told, made and loved by 
the spirit of light." 

" True it is," said Tadeuskund ; " but often the evil 
spirit makes bold the witch, and gives power to ensnare 
the children of light." 

" Elluwia thinks pain and'toil only have kindled the 
fire, that burns within Tadeuskund's friend. No wizard 
Iiad dared employ his art over my father's preserver, 
The snake that charms the birds, dreads and shuns the 
eagle that makes it a food for her young." 

*' Wizards in darkness cast heavy spells over the 
strong, as snakes in the shades will glide in the very 
nest of the bird of the clouds, and sting her while 
sleeping over her young." 

" But Elluwia dreads lest those arts, practised by 
Totoson, to cast off the spells, should prove too heavy 
12 



134 

to be borne by the weakened body of the friend of Ta^ 
deuskund. She fears, lest as he dissolves the charm, 
he may dissolve also the breath away." 

'* Totoson has knowledge to dispel evil. His power 
destroys charms and sickness," said Tadeuskund. 

<< May his power only destroy charm and sickness," 
said Elluwia vnth a sigh, as she saw on Tadeuskund's 
stern brow a slight mark of impatience, at her presum- 
ing to doubt the power of the juggler, the favoured 
oracle of the superstitious tribe.^ She bowed her head 
in silence, as one, who, conscious of having done all to 
dispel error, passively awaits the event which nothing 
can avert, when error is cherished as truth. 

In reality, the physician or juggler soon appeared, 
and even in Elluwia who long had known his imposture 
and his frightful attire, his monstrous disguise inspired 
aversion, if not a sense of dread. But upon Conrad 
the sight had so t€rriGc an influence, that his first im- 
pulse was to replace his two hands, once more to guard 
bis locks from sudden and treacherous invasion. 

The dress assumed by the wild physician, had in its 
novelty a cast of the ludicrous and of the terrible. His 
, whole body was inclosed in <he skin of a bear, so art- 
fully adapted to his limbs, that he seemed like a new 
animal, somewhat resembling man in shape ; mostly 
however on account of his walking on hind legs ; for in 
addition to his hirsute attjre, he had contrived to affix 
upon the head of the bear, filled with his own, the lofty ' 
horns of a young elk, the size and weight of which 
imparted to bis head an involuntary vacillation ; greatly 
enhancing the eccentricity of his appearance. In bis 
hand (we should say in his paw) he held a bundle of 
drugs, and a large gourd filled with pebbles, intended 
to make a rattling sound,- which was heard at a distance, 
long before he appeared. 

On coming into the presence of his chief, he first 
commenced a dance, with grotesque attitudes, and con- 
tortions of hi^ limbs ; then, being nearer the patient, he 



135 

stopped, and looked around with a. composed, impor- 
tant air ; then, resumed his dance, filling the air with 
the deafening noise of his gourd. At last he approach- 
ed the couch, where Livingston reclined in the torpor 
of fever, from which he had been but partially roused 
by the obstreperousness of the juggler. He then made 
various odd gestures and mysterious signs ; laid his 
bundle on the earth ; and taking from it divers unknown 
medicines, which he mixed with affected care and im- 
pcnrtance, be compounded a mystick beverage, designed 
to affect the cure, or the expulsion of the evil spirit. 
Then he poured a certain number of drops of the 
muddy liquid into a shell which he placed on the brow 
of Livingston, who grew more insensible to the trans- 
actions around him, until the conjurer. Mowing in his 
Bose, pouring water in his ears and mouth, rubbing his 
hands and feet, succeeded in exciting, for a while, his 
sensibility and attention. 

At that moment, Elluwia, till then a silent spectator 
of the empirical practices of the roan in bear's attire, 
rose from her low seat ; and with a sad, imploring look, 
was about to entreat her father to command the impos- 
tor to desistv ^' His breath is weak, and his heart beats 
faintly now," she said, with a sigh ; but was interrupted 
by a severe glance and a peremptory wave of the hand 
of Tadeuskund, which doomed her to resume her hum- 
ble seat and her silence ; while, in a pouting mood, she 
witnessed the termination of the display of Totoson's 
deceptive arts. . 

Livingsto]) had once more sunk into a deep comatose 
sleep, which the juggler strove to dispel by the reitera- 
tion of his tormenting attacks. Finding it more « diffi- 
cult to rouse him from that state, he shook his rattling 
gourd, screamed ; and finally attempted to lift him to a 
sitting posture, while he continued his clamourous 
St ains. But it was all in vain ; for it served only to 
hasten the symptoms of a long and slow delirium, into 
which Livingston fell, and during which he was many 
days insensible alike to pain and to his fate. 



136 

When he recovered the use of his senses, his first, 
impression was, that he had been removed to some re- 
mote country, new to his sight ; for, from the very couch 
on which he was laid, he saw below him, a level plain, 
extending itself at the foot of the mountain, on which 
his. new abode was situated. Amidst the graves that 
decked the vale, a broad river wa^seSn here and there, 
slowly revolving its waves in a bending course. On 
every side high mountains terminated the view, and 
seemed entirely to encompass the Umited valley at his 
feet. 

He looked around him, and perceived that his shelter 
was nothing more than a natural excavation in the lofty- 
ledge of rocks, which crowned the brow of the moun- 
tain. The cave, sufBciently spacious, and secure from 
the inclemency of the weather, had been made more 
commodious, for the residence of man, by additions on 
both sides, consisting of matted branches and bark, 
which formed a curtain or wall, opened only in front.for 
an entrance, as well as for the emission of smoke. 
Rude as such a residence might appear, there was in 
the whole of its interior an appearance of neatness and 
order, which seemed to indicate the presence and at- 
tentive attendance of a female hand. On the earth, 
were ranged in order a* number of gourds, cups, and 
vases ; and various bunches of dried herbs were seen 
hanging on the sides, emitting a sweet odour in the air 
of the cell. Near his .couch, Livingston saw a small 
fire lately supplied with a few pine knots, the fragrance 
of which was no detriment to the smell of jhe odorifer- 
ous simples collected there, and saved perchance for 
the restoration of his bruised and fevered frame. Ob- 
serving no one with him in the cell, he made an effort 
to raise himself fronf4iis couch ; but the debility attend- 
ing the subsidence of delirium, baffled his endeavour, 
and left him only the consolation sof having recovered 
the use of his reason, if not that of his limbs. 

As he strove more and more to collect his thoughts 



137 

of the past, that he might form conjectures on the pre- 
sent, his ear caught the notes *of a Prussian march, 
whistled in a low and rather slow measure, by one, 
whom he could not have identified with any other but 
Conrad, even if Fritz himself had not presently shown 
bis round face, at the ^trance of the cave. He gazed 
a while on the countenance of Livingston with an ex- 
pression of honest sympathy, which, in fact, seemed to 
affect sensibly the functions of his lutigs ; for though his 
lips, in their motion, continued faithfully the tune to it£ 
end, in all its variations and modulations, yet no audible 
sound was now emitted from his coral mouth. Livingston 
growing -irapatierft af what his 'irritability prompted him 
to mistake for insensibility in the truly feeling companion 
of his misfortune, strove once more to raise his head 
from his mos^y pillow ; and collecting his strength, 
forced himself to speak to the silent witness of the first 
effort made by him to cause his voice to give evidence 
of his returning reason. 

" Conrad," said he, " come nearer, and tell me what 
change has taken place with us. Speak, if, as I should 
be tempted to doubt from your looks, you also have not 
been bereft, by your ills, of your' reason and memory." 

" Ach ! Ach ! what a pity," said Conrad, obdurate 
in his belief, that his captain was raving. ** How I 
kreafe to hear him talk so matly ; and now how pale he 
he looks. Ah ! Ferflucht doctor. That old salfage pear t 
physician has teraiiged his prain forefer." 

'* You will surely make me grow mad, if you persist 
in treating me as a maniac. Come closer to me, and 
answer my questions." This Livingston uttered with 
such marks of irritation, as to enforce the thought in 
Conrad's mind, who nevertheless approached his cap- 
tain, with a good natured intention to indulge him in his 
delirious fancies. 

" My fery reasonable and lucit commanter," said he, 
striving to restore Livingston's head to its place of rest, 
^' be assured I meant no tisrespect to your pright under* 
12* 



138 

standing ; and for a proof ^f my opedient recard, I 
come to tell you, I went out and tid all you pid me. I 
killed all the chiants, that you saw obressing the fair 
mait ; and proke the pack-pone of the one that carried 
her away. Nay, my. intelligent captain, as you thought 
fery practicable, I tid even swallow that kreat mountain 
that was near tumbling over us all. And I swallowed 
the rifer, as you bid me ; which I found very useful to 
help down thb mountain, quite hard of tigestion. All 
is safe, now ; shleep now in peace.'' 

^^ Had I sufficient strength to give course to my anger, 
I should now inflict on your bax^k-bones such an admo- 
nition, as would teach you to refrain from jests about 
giants, when I command you to speak seriously." . 

" My very gentle captain," said Conrad, '* you do 
me great injustice, to think I chest with your orters ; 
iipon my honest wort, I killed them all and all ; and say 
what you will, to the last pebble, I swallowed — " 

'^ Conrad," said Livingston, ^' in the name of the 
submission that you. owe me, I charge you to open your 
eyes, and see that if I have raved in sickness, I now 
enjoy the use of my senses." 

Conrad, as if anxious to obey the least injunction of 
his chief, began to open his eyes wider and wider ; and 
gaze upon Livingston, with a look in which there was 
a mixture of incredulity, ^titl allaying the rapture of his 
heart. At last, his doubts were conquen^d, as be saw 
a smile play upon the lips of his indulgent captain, who 
knew the simplicity and candour of his feelings ; then 
he gave vent to his joy in terms, the volubility of which, 
for a time, prevented Livingston from inquiring of the 
events, which brought him to the unknown place, where 
such care seemed to have been bestowed upon him. 

When the rapture of his joy had somewhat subsided, 
Livingston understood from him, that the arts of the 
Indian juggler having proved fruitless, except in aggra- 
vating the disease, Tadeuskund had immediately or- 
dered three savages to assist in conveying him to this 



139 

place, called the valley of Wyoming ; which journey 
was performed in less than two days ; he, Conrad, ac- 
companying the band; with a hope that he migh^ bestow 
his devoted care, upon his captain to whom he owed, 
his Ufe. He added with many a' wiok, and exclamations 
of praise, that ".Miss Elluwia," had not ceased one 
moment on the way, to watch over the preservation of 
his ^' brave commander ;'' and that since their arHval 
here, she had spared no toil, and lavished patience and 
art, to alleviate his pain ; while she strove by various 
medieioes, to conquer the fever, which long threatened 
to terminate his life. Livingston learned also, that hig 
adopted father, Burton, was arrived there ; and after 
lending his aid and knowledge to relieve him, had pro- 
ceeded towards the Susquehanna, with an assurance to 
Elluwia that he would soon return. He was, it seemed, 
intent upon delivering various messages to the tribes of 
Indians^ inhabiting the valley, to counteract, if possible, 
the solicitations and xhreats of the Mingoes, who, in 
concert with the Canadians, continued their efforts to 
excite the peaceful tribes to wa]> But his messages 
and pronmises, with all the efforts of the " Friendly Asso- 
ciation," it appeared, were of little avail to avert th^ 
vgrowing enmity of those Indians, who so long had beea 
friendly to the English ; for even Tadeuskund, the open 
friend of the whites, bad thought it more prudent to 
conceal from most of his tribe the presence of Livingston 
among them, and the assistance and shelter, which his 
hand had lent to his deliverer. Such considerations had 
.induced him to transform a retired cave, long known to 
himself, into a safe and solitary dwelling for his friend ; 
whilst a few of his most zealous companions only were 
admitted into the secret of Livingston's retreat. 

''Miss Hailluwire," continued Conrad, " walks up that 
steep mountain, among the priars, and rattlesnake^, that 
kreat Linneus called more properly croialus horridus4 
She climbs those rocks, I say, my fery active captain, 
to take such sweet care of you, that she has, with my 



140 

teep knowledge of potany, saved at last your precious 
life. Not one tay has passed, when she tid not pring 
some koot medicines, and many thiogs for your assis* 
dance and comfort befeides." 

^^ She roust be an angel^ indeed," said Livingston, 
with a smile of delight upon his pallid lips. 

'* An anchel she is," said Conrad ; '^ there is not one 
youdgfrau in Shermany to equal her for penevolence 
and kindness to the sick. Her coolness even has ex- 
tended to your motest servant, Fritz Conrad, who can 
enchoy a long pipe of cut and try, brought to him by 
her sweet pretty hand." 

'* How long must I wait yet, before she returns ? " 
asked Livingston. 

" She is on the mountain efen now, but went apout 
the clefts of the rocks, to cather some simbles, of which 
she teclares she won 't tell me the chenus, or efen the 
glass." 

" How can you Conrad, permit her thus to expose 
herself among these precipices? I need no attendance. 
Run to her assistance, and save her if possible from the 
dangers which she confronts for my sake." 

'' Ach ! my coot captain ; she will afFronta^l tangers 
for a lifing soul ; and won h let others follow her nim- 
ple steps ; which, py the py, my old poots do not per- 
mit me to do, swiftly enough for her cait." 

" However it may be, my dear Conrad ; I entreat 
you to hasten, and try to trace her steps, that I may not 
have the grief of being the cause of any injury to so 
noble and angelick a being." 

" I see her efen now," said Fritz, who, with more 
agility than could be* supposed from his rotundity, rose 
in haste from his sitting posture ; arid actually run to 
meet her, that he might have the satisfaction of inform- 
ing her of the return of reason in his beloved captain. 
He soon returned, ushering into the cell the beautiful 
EUuwia ; who smiled with the smile of crowned efforts, 
on reading in Livingston's eyes, the return of bis souPar 
empire, and of his gratitude. 



141 

"Friend of the brave," she said, " ElTuwia- greets 
the return of knowledge in thee. Knowledge restored 
in sickness is on the soul, like the return of the sun, 
that brings back light, while it pours heat and life on 
the earth." 

" if I now behold the light of heaven, I can never 
forget that I owe the blessing to your care." 

" Speak not of blessing from me, friend of Tadeus- 
kund.. Thy hand saved him who is a blessing upon 
thousands." 

" From your hand, one benefit leaves a thousand- 
fold impression upon my mind," said Livingston, who 
tried once more to rise from his couch, while he spoke, 
but fell back exhausted by the repeated efforts which 
be had made ; and while his lips were still moving to 
utter more, she approached, and gently pressing her 
hand on his mouth, took the most effectual method to 
prevent him from speaking ; for as he kissed the sweet 
minister of silence, it seemed such a privilege, added 
to all the blessings bestowed by that hand, could no 
longer be acknowledged by words. 

" Sickness has taken strength away from thy limbs," 
said ElluWia ; ** let time "diffuse in thee th^ balm that 
health begins to shed. When thy feet can walk, when 
thy mouth can speak atid thy ear listen to words, then 
shall we prattle like the red-breasted bird in the morn ; 
but now thy physician commands thy lips to close. I 
know thou wilt not disobey." 

Saying this, with a smile, she turned to Conrad, and 
inquired whether Tadeuskund had yet paid his morning 
visit to the cell ; on receiving a negative answer, she 
cast a glance afar off on the path that led down to the 
Valley, and then returned to the various cares of her 
patient. She added new fuel to the fire, and spread on 
the coals a resinous substance, whose aromatick vapours 
soon perfumed the air. Her next occupation was to in- 
fuse unknown herbs in water, that Conrad insisted upon 
bringing himself from the spring ; and when the bever- 



142 

age was prepared, she filled a cup which, in spite of 
the German's eagerness " to safe her the trouple," she 
. chose herself to administer to her patient ; giving in 
the meantime* her various, directions to both for the 
treatment of the disease in her absence. As she was 
on the point of departing, having disposed every thing 
for the relief and comfort of Livingston, two voices 
were heard at a distance, which proved to be those of 
T^deuskund and Burton, who were advancing in haste. 
In a few seconds, in spite of the tardiness of age, in 
the old friend of our hero, they both reached the en- 
trance of the cell. 

" Elluwia," said Tadeuskund, *' thy eye should not 
behold strife ; and as ray arm may soon be forced to 
strike, thy father will have thee shun the sight of blood. 
An enemy is near. Let thy feet take instantly the path 
on the left, and turn to our fires." 

*' Has EUuwia shown such dread of the storm, that 
she must leave Tadeuskund, when the wind hurls the 
tempest on ? Let her be permitted by her father to 
abide ; and say, I pray thee, fatheri say what foe has 
shown his face on our path." 

" We have spied Wancomand, lurking on the track 
that our steps left on the moss. Tadeuskun d wo uld 
have turned, and crushed the dark, prowling Bend ; Buf 
that he glides and shrinks, when to glide or to shrink 
serve his end. It is meet he should find me here, 
where my daughter and my friend could be discovered. 
But Elluwia must leave the place where the hand that 
gives relief cannot strike." 

" The daughter of Tadeuskund would not boast ; but 
now she entreats her father, to remember her art has 
once served to decoy the wolf into the shades. She 
has a rierht to demand a favour that was then thonght a 
service." 

'' Stay then ; but in the cell let thy face be hid." 
Saying this Tadeuskund gently pressed her in, and 
raising a screen or door woven with twigs and blades 



143 

of corn, thus concealed the interior from sight. Then 
calling to Conrad, who with one hand over his head, 
looked for the foe in every direction, he presented to 
him a nausket ; and was directing Burton to another, 
when the friend interposed. 

" Tadeuskund," said he, " thou who hast become a 
christian, wilt thou even now prepare to shed thy bro- 
ther's blood ? If thou hast saved Livingston from death, 
without depriving one of his captors of life, bethink 
thyself, that thoa mayest defend him with thy authority 
alone. At least, I entreat thee to lay those arms down 
until violence is offered. Perhaps my intercession may , 
avail more than force, and then our consciences will ^ 
not call us to account for deeds of wrath." 

" Brother," said Tadeuskund, " though the cbristfan 
water was poured on my brow, I never laid down my 
hatchet or the rifle whilst a forest foe was near. For 
my life I would spurn to contend, if my life alone were 
threatened. But Wancomand hates the christians. He 
would not spare my friend or even thee. Lambs, thou 
sayest, oft teach meekness to chrirtians, as they stretch 
their decks to the knife ; but remember the ram pros- 
trates walls to oppose the enemy of its race. So has 
Tadeuskund dispersed the enemy of his children of the 
plain ; so shall be protect the friends of his blood." 

'' Let me at least speak to him, if he should attack 
thee, before thy hand strikes," said. Burton, who, knowing 
too well the ferocity of Wancomand's character, could 
not interdict, pei^hance in spite of his principles, the 
thought of force being used to protect the life of His 
friend. 

Conrad, encouraged by the words and inspiring de- 
meanour of Tadeuskund., had snatched the weapon with 
the grasp of one who intends to make the best of his 
Doeans ; and after examining the pan, striking the flint 
with the faithful steel of his smoking apparatus, he now 
stood in martial array, devoting his two hands to the 
service of his piece, unmindiul for a time of the jeop- 
ardy of his hair. 



144 

As they were all prepared for (he reception of the 
prophet, Wancomand indeed appeared ;^ not alone, 
as Tadeuskund had thought, but acconnpanied with a 
number of his men, bearing discontent and revenge on 
their faces, and weapons in their hands. They did not 
advance, however, with signs of immediate conflict, but 
•seemed ready to obey the will of their chief, whatever 
might be his commands. At a sign of his hand they 
stopped, and even condescended to lower their arms 
before Tadeiisk nd, who stood unmoved and seemingly 
iregardless of their number. 

" Brother," said Wancomand ; *' for we call thee still 
brother ; we have met round the same fire, and smoked 
of the pipe of peace. Wancomand hears the thunders; 
and sees the lighteoings of the Great Spirit from above ; 
and of his will to wash the white froth away from our 
shore, more shall be said when the council fire burns in 
thy plain. 

" Brother, I come for wrongs unpaid ; I claim a right 
broken in the dark. In the dark the right may be 
restored. 

" B.rolher, while I slept, a nameless beast of prey 
crept in my fold, and stole the Iamb that it held. In 
steahh did it carry away the lamb, that I had kept for 
a feast. • But I traced by the de\^ of the sky on the 
moss the track of the beast as it fled to its den. I have 
found the very cell where the lamb is concealed. 

'^ Brother, let the prey be restored to the wolf, and 
the wolf shall tiot look for the robber of the flesh. The 
lost one restored his anger shall sleep." 

" Brother," replied Tadeuskund. " (for we sometimes 
use that name with foes) ; when the beast of prey has 
been forced, in the shade, to steal unseen, for a lamb ; 
if pursued to its den, it will oft defend its own, even in 
the light of the sun. Thus, at least would Tadeuskund 
do. I have spoken." 

" But if the robber should, be pursued by a strong 
hand ^ and many should surround his retreat, would 



145 

Tadeuskund think it wise for the wolf to shew himself 
in the light ? " 

^^ Tadeuskiiod despises the bear that growls impotent 
in bis den, and would despise alike the warrior, who^ 
trembling alooe, should call numbers to throng round a 
single foe." 

** Brother," said Wancomand, " force shews reason. 
The weak talk and implore. The strong act, but speak 
not. The Great Spirit bids me look where my vibtim 
lurks in the shade." ^ 

Saying ihis, he advanced to the cell, with an instant 
design to Kft the curtain, which concealed the interior ; 
when Tadeuskund, with rage flashing in his eye, rushed 
forward to interpose. In the meanwhile, Burton like- 
wise hastened to prevent, if possible, bjt. his prayers, r 
the consequences of so fatal a contest ; w^ile Conrad, 
well assured that his scalp stood no chance of safety 
under the hands, whose' impression, once felt, was not 
erased from bis memory, determined to face him with 
as much boldness as be could assume 5 and even pre- 
ceded the tardy steps of Burton. 

At the moment, when Wancomand, having reached 
the entrance of the cell, was on the point of meeting 
with bis more powerful antagonist, the flexible door, 
now firmly attached internally to the upper part of the 
tent, was suddenly raised from the ground ; and Elluwia 
bounded forward, while the curtain naturally dropped 
once moi*e to the earth. Thus, intercepting the passage 
before Wancomand, she stood unmoved, looking on him 
with an expressipn of sarcastic contempt, accompanied 
with a smile of apparent unconcern and security. 

" Wancomand," said she, *^ art thoo the prophet, 
whose voice has been heard from the parched plains. 
near the sun, to the mountains of ice beyond the lakes? 
Art thou the right arm of the Great Spirit, sent among 
us to stir wonders, and disperse the white, as the sun 
drives the mist in the morn ? If so, the living red of 
tby cheek should shame the purple paint spread there 
13 



148 

speak the biddiogs of the Great Spirit. Till then, let 
me sleep in silence. I shall think I dreamt of tha 
white captive stolen, and yond living flesh." 

These last words he uttered, pointing first to the cell 
and then to Conrad, who, during the contest had re- 
mained a silent, though not unconcerned spectator. 
Wancoma^d then made a sign to his men for departure, 
having taken leave of Tadeuskund, who, unsoftened bjr 
the rays of the sun, as well as unshaken by the blasts 
of the storm, received with unbroken silence the part- 
ing salutations of the wily chief. Before the departure 
of the band, one of them approached the cautious Ger-< 
man, who recognised in bim the wild Parisian of the 
eventful night, so kind in anticipating, predicting, and 
overlooking the flight of his prisoners. He shook 
hands with Conrad, and addressed him once more ia 
his native language, though he bad . reason to suppose 
him ignorant of the French. 

* ^' Ma foi, vous Vavez ichappe belle; convenez en 
monsieur. Au reste,je vous enfelicite. Ces mesiieun 
les sauvages aiment irop hsgrillades ; ei vous avez hieti 
fait de leur fausser compagnie. Mais^ savez vous bien 
que voire compagnon ne s^entend pas mal afaire des 
conquetes ? Diable ! la petite Ailouia est unjolimorceau. 
Jene m^etonne plus de V avoir vue.si bien inspirte^ Puts 
quHl ne veut pas se montrer, faites lui mes complimens. 
A revoiry monsieur, maisy*^ speaking in a confidential 
tone J '• ne vous ecartez pas trop loin dans les boisJ^ 

Ya vohl, mein herr. Ich can nicht fersthen. My 
fery elecant and opleaching ofl[icer, you are quite flat- 
tering in your tiscourse, which I imachine I might 
undq^stand if French was my natife tongue. I always 

♦tTpon my word, yoa have had a narrow escape. Acknowledge it, air. 
Besides, I congratulate you upon it These gentlemen, the savages, like 
loast meat too well, and you have done well to escape from them. But do 
you know that your companion does not understand ill making conquests. 
The deuce! little El'uwia is a pretty piece of machinery. I am no longer 
astonished at having seen her %o well ins} vcd. Since he does not wi«b to 
show himself, present my compliments to him.* Adieu, sir. But d9 |^o( 
go too deep into the woods* 



149 



rekretted my etucation was finished pefore I learnt your 
language. Atieu, monsier, che paise vos mains." 

Presently Wancomand and his clan slowly mo\red 
down the steep rocks, and soon were lost from sight in 
the glade. 



CHAPTER IX. 

First aged chiefs, then warriors bold. 
Then youths, allowed their place to hold; 
While women, children, farther still, 
All join the circling gtoap to fill. 
Where shaven head and feathered crest, 
And bow and club, for battle dres8*dj ' 
Of every form aod hue appear. 
Like leaves that deck the dying year. 

Ojstwa. 

Tadeuskund then turned to the shelter of his 
preserver, and raising the curtain, beckoned Burton and 
Elluwia to follow his steps ; while Conrad, with joy 
glistening in his eye, accepted uninvited the request 
made to the rest, and triumphantly deposited on the 
ground the butt of bis offensive piece, on which he 
complacently reclined during the conversation which 
took place. The chief spoke not for a while ; but he 
fixed on Livingston his dark eye, — which spoke firm 
tranquillity and gratified aflfeclion. Burton, with grati- 
tude for the dzviue assistance, congratulated Tadeus- 
kund and Livingston upon the happy termination of the 
contest ; and several times addressed EUuvyia in terms, 
betraying the growing love, which she seemed to inspire 
in greater share than that which his heart bestowed on 
all men.'^ 

" Thy daughter," said he to Tadeuskund, ** like tho 

good Esther of old, has used her talents to save the life 

of the oppressed. May she reap the fruit of her many 

kindnesses. I trust, thou instillest ia ber thy respect 

13* 



150 

for the religion adopted by thee* Such reward only 
can pay her for such benevolence." 

** Elluwia was," said the chief, then correctiog biin- 
self, continued, ^^ she is a christian. My daughter is 
good." 

" She is, then, surely thy own daughter," said Bur- 
ton with more than usual ernestness. 

" Yes, indeed, his daugbter,'' said Elluwia. "What 
sweeter name is there i^ What name would the parent 
bird receive from the lone — " 

Tadeuskund, who had observed his usual silence, 
when Burton inquired, seemed to wish to waive the 
subject, and tn fact turned the conversation to another 
theme. 

" Brother," said he to Livingston, " I greet the return 
of knowledge in thee. Thy ear has heard the roar of 
thy enemy ; the storm is now quelled into silence. 
Though it be o'er for a lime, it may ere long rage and 
ring louder in the air. Bot thy life shall be spared, and 
thou sbalt see thy fires once more in peace ; but for 
half a moon at least, must thou stay in the shade. 
Many, even among my tribe, upbraid Tadeuskund for 
Ills love of the whites. I fear no reproach, no revolt, 
no rage, but for thee. When th^ sun has rolled the 
appointed time, my hand i^all lead thee on." 

** Wilt thou indeed permit that council fire, where 
Waf^comand intends to use his deepest arts, to urge thy 
nation to war ? " asked Burton. 

" My word is given for a deed which even my word 
could not refuse. Our warriors will hear." 

" But what means can be employed to defeat the 
execution of bis designs ? " 

" Thurensera," said Tadeuskund, " the friend of my 
heart, though oft oppressed by the white,- still inclines 
for peace. He loves thy sect. His tongue, thou 
knowest, sounds deeply in the breast. All listen to his 
voice. He shall speak." 

''His power is great over the minds of thy natiop > 
but can we call no other aid ? " 



I5i 

" My raipe, my hand," said Tadeuskund, — ^then he 
recliaed to the earth awhile, and seemed wrapped in 
deep meditations. At last he raised his proud brow, 
and lifting one of bis hands above bis head, continued — 

*' The Great Spirit breathed in nie the love that I 
have for thee ; and while this heart beats, I shall follow 
my path. Bnt the path lays over steep mountains ; 
rough rocks threaten ray steps, and though I fear not, 
lest the danger of the way should make my eye dizzy, 
or my foot stumble, yet I cannot refrain, at timesi from 
sitting awhile on a peak, and breathing and looking 
below." 

'* Surely then, at such times, thou regretlest not the 
toilsome roughness of thy path, when such recompense 
awaits such efK)rts, virtue crowned with the unfading 
Uossom of religion -" 

^^ Tadeuskimd never repines. Regrets are like wasps 
that die oft leaving their stbg in the wound they inflict. 
Tadeuskund repines not, for he never erred on this 
path. But while his heart and baad are for the white 
racet, he cannot help feeling the wounds of his own 
tbildren." » 

" If murderous men have often oppressed and be* 
trayed thy tribe, thoo knowest the peaceful wishes of 
our best men, and must forgive the rashness of the few 
ignorant wretches who afflict humanity at large." 

" Few ! indeed," said Tadeuskund, clenching his 
hand. *' Thy heart speaks truth ; but thy lips err. Few 
wretches ! See this scarred breast ; each wound among 
so many scars, came frcHn some of thy brothers. Look 
on those plains, and find one spot where no crimson 
stain speaks the slaughters of my children by the white. 
No, there is not the smallest brook in our land that has 
not reflected up to the face of the Great Spirit, the 
fnurders of thy race on our brothers, who granted them 
place in that land to sleep." 

'*' But reflect that those men, if not few, are still the 
smallest part of our nation. The rest love peace and 
justice." 



152 

" Peace and justice are made for white men ; but 
the bleeding warrior of the woods, when he speaks is 
not beard. His voice cannot pass the mountains to thy 
fires ; and when his roof and his breath have been 
sought by the stealing hand, no redress can avail but 
revenge." 

"Revenge is forbidden by the meek religion em- 
braced and revered by thee," said Burton. 

" Let thy brothers first obey those ' rules, ere they 
preach them to our ears. Or is religion given us only 
to obey, and for them to transgress ; that thus the hun- 
ter, with a song, may allure his prey to the snare ? " 

" Is it then true," said Burton, with a sigh, ** that 
thou canst stray from our belief, and reject our benign 
laws f " 

" No, no," said the chief, slightly smiling. "Thus 
much have my lips spoken my mind. Tadeuskund is 
strong. He will prop with his arm, and sustain the 
mountain that speaks ruin. But as the white, while 
they draw their knowledge from the same great book, 
yet divide into tribes, and believe various tales ; so 
shall the red man in his wilds, assume the*creed that 
the beatings of his heart have spelt from that book." 

As he spoke thus, Tadeuskund, unfolding his arms 
which he bad held for a while in that pensive position, 
turned slowly round, and lifted from the earth a large 
gourd filled with rum, which had been deposited there 
by his hands. He raised it to his face, and looking 
tipon it awhile, in a motionless attitude, smiled, but with 
a smile of sorrow and contenript. 

" That water, too," said he, "i s brought by the same 
band that turns the leaves of the great book. In one 
hand is knowledge to make us obey, while the other 
pours the poison of blindness in our throats." 

He then made a seeming efi^brt to chase the cloud 
which shaded the smile on his lips ; and applying those 
living harbingers of his soul to the gourd, he emptied it 
at one draught, as it were, like water of the springs 



163 

Ellawia trembled, Burton sighed, but Conrad smiled ; 
for his philosophy whispered to his ear no upbraiding 
charge against a liquor which his stomach and his head 
could easily tolerate ; whilst his gratitude prompted 
him to overlook in the chief a breach of civility, which 
bis good nature would not have given him strength to 
decline* 

The eyes of Tadeuskund, glowing with unnatural 
fire, bore the only external signs of the stimulating 
beverage, circulating in*fais very veins, without imparting 
.the slightest vacillation to his limbs. But his noble, his 
kingly mind resisted with less energy against the in-^ 
fluence of the enervating liquor. 

" The warring clouds," said he to Livingston, " shall 
flee before the sunshine of my eyes* The war trumpet 
shall sound ; and king.Tadeuskund) stretching forth his 
arm, shall smother the breath of thy enemy. When 
the eagle SQars high Qvdtr beds of mountains, she shoots 
glances from the endless lake, to where the Great Spirit 
Sides the sun, so shall the king of tlvQ Lenape watch 
jDver thee." * . 

" Father," said Elluwia, " the shadows of the moun- 
tains, lengthen in the plain, and the chirps of the birds 
in the bushes sing tales of coming sleep. Thurensera 
is not come, nor are tliefour warriors returned from the 
chase. My heart says thou wilt sleep here ; but I 
dread Wancomand. He murders sleep ; and the bloody 
face of Awannon dwells still in my eye." 

•' Awannon ! the right arm of the king ? Thy mouth 
has said. Awannon was murdered, and the Lenape 
shall how], when his blood is avenged. But what unseen 
spirit held back my arm when the wolf was here ? Oh ! 
yes ; knowledge returns ; the care over this friend 
drowned the thought. But Tadeuskund shall not lay 
still while the serpent glides. He will track the fresh 
traces. Give arms to my wrath. Let my tomahawk 
be raised." 

Ju reality, Tadeuskund looked for his hatchet, and 



/ 

154 

prepared to depart ; but while he paced the room with 
hasty strides, his daughter, the sweet angel of peace, 
tiraely interposed. 

" Great father, mighty king of the Lenape, this can- 
not be thy mind. See yond blaze in the sky ; it is the 
last smile of the sun upon us. Think of us here alone 
' without thee. The bear leaves not her cubs at night,, 

but watches in the den, when the panther is near.'* 

*' But who shall shed the blood that Awannon's bones 
. demand ?" 

'' Let the war Trumpet sound, and a thousand war- 
riors shall crpwd before thy face, to take, the hatchet 
from thy hand which thy friend needs here." 

" EUuwia speaks well," said the chief ; "sheistho 
voice of the strong, for her father is king." 

" But ere the sun sends no more light on ray paitb, 
grant dear fether^ grant that I niay go down to our fires, 
and send Thurensera to his king. He must watch 
when thou sleepest." 

The chief passed bis hand over his brow and eyes 
several times, as if striving to collect his thoughts; at 
last he waved his hand, and said — -^^ Follow the path 
which thy light directs. The poison may blind my eye. 
Go ; but stray not. Tadeusknnd never err*, but sleeps 
at tinDies." 

" One more boon I would ask. Let me obtain fironi 
the king of the Lenape, the promise that his now 
slumbering wrath may not be roused, and lead his steps 
away from his friend to seek the wolf." 

"I would speak the word, but for the thought, that 
the poison may steal remembrance." 

" Let then this string of wampum round thy neck 
speak thy promise to thy eye, for Elluwia knows thou 
wilt not refuse the word." 

Saying this, she passed the band round his muscular 
neck, with a smile that spoke her confidence in the 
promise, which he no longer denied to her entreaty. 
Halving thus insured the rampart of his arm to Living- 



155 

ston, she hastened to depart ; not without glancing n 
kind look upon her patient. 

*' Miss Hailluwire," cried Conrad, ere she left the 
cell, raising a blanket from the ground, " you are ^Iways 
thinking and toing for others, and forket yo»r own koot 
self. You must take that mantle, my fery peneficent 
princess, which remints my heart of the finest planket 
you efer saw, that I brought from Shermany, where I 
was porn and received a sword — " 

" Thanks to thee," said Elluwia ; " I need no man- 
tle ; for the air was ever kind to me. FareweU to the 
great and the good." 

And she sprung in a moment out of sight. In. the 
meanwhile, day was rapidly fading away ; and soon the 
little fire in the cell, became the sole light that illumed 
the scene, where our hero reclined. Tadeuskund 
spoke no more, but continued to pace the^round with 
the same firmness of step, until the slow measured 
tread of some men advancing in silence fixed his ear. 
He at once knew these sounds, and recognised the 
voices for those of the warriors returning from the 
chase. As they approached the tent he stepped to its 
entrance, and having glanced on them, by the dim light 
of the departed sun, he rherely raised his hand in sign of 
recognition, and turned again to the fire. Then stretch- 
ing his stout limbs on the cold, bare groud, he abandonr 
ed himself to sleep ; and thus, a worthy monarch of 
^e earth, obtained his slumbers on the bosom of that 
fnother of men. 

Burton and Conrad meantime ascertained that 
two of the warriors, contrary to the Indian custom of 
sleeping en the very verge of danger, were watching 
before the resting place of their king ; and trusting in 
the vigilance of those guards, they both betook them- 
selves to rest. Then all, ere long, were plunged in a 
steep which pought disturbed till the morn. 

The next day, Livingston, when he awoke found 
faimself refreshed and strengthened. Though unable 



156 

to arise from his couch, yet he could enjoy tha Bse of 
his arms, so much invigorated, that he succeeded unas- 
sisted in placing himself in a sitting position, that he 
might view the plain and the objects around. To none 
but those, who, bound by disease, have felt a liberation 
from4ts restraints, can his sensations be expressed at 
that hour. Every object seemed new and beautiful to 
his eye, and every impression, as if unfelt before, con- 
veyed delight to bis mind. 

In truth, there was a splendid theme for admiration 
before him ) as the sun, already high in his course, 
poured heat through the chilled, though still atmos** 
phere, the curtain had been raised from the entrance 
of the cell, so as to permit him to behold the spectacle, 
which the vale of Wyoming then exhibited to the eye. 
The vapours usually collected in autumnal mornings, from 
the ^vaters of the Susquehanna, were still spread as a veil, 
over the plain ; and so widely did the fog extend, that no 
land was seen for miles before him, save the distant moun« 
tains in the north and west. Thus the vale at his feet 
seemed like a vast lake, covered with the white morning 
mist. While the sun, pure and bright in his glory in the 
east, strove with his rays to dispel the vapour; the curling, 
waving, fluid plain of watery air below, like a sea of 
melted silver^ glittered vrith resplendent white, as if to 
mock the purity of snow. Here and there, a rising 
column of more pellucid mist, was .seen to wind like 
the white tops of the Alps, and dissolve as it encounr 
tered the rays of the sun. Gradually, as the orb of 
life and heat began to regain its empire, the silvery 
waves'of condensed air seemed to settle in lower realms^ 
and the pine-crowned hillocks of the vale, peeping 
through the . mist, looked like little islands, emerging 
from the lake, whose dazzling whiteness contrasted with 
the deep ^ades of the towering ever-greens. The 
tide of swelling and sinking vapour formed a slow mar 
jestic dance, that no pencil, no colour could paint, ' 

"Unless to mortal it were given 

To dip hie bruih in dyes of heaven.'^ 



157 

iintH t}ie San dispelling the last rovolWng flake, reigned 
alone over the banks of the fair Susquehanna. 

Livingston was alone, but a few words, uttered by 
Indian voices near the cell, informed him that he wa$ 
not abandoned to the snares of the wily enemy of the 
whites ; nor did he harbmrrihelhoiiglif oOeing bereft 
on'E(&* sigBt and conversation of his fair physician ; for 
signs of her presence were visible around him. Her 
band bad already prepared various herbs and medicines, 
placed near his couch; and all in the room was arranged 
$vith a solicitous order, which contrasted with the wild 
rudeness of his habitation. Presently, she appear* 
ed at the entrance of the tent, with a large gourd filled 
with water, in h%r hand. She paused ere she entered^ 
casting a modest glance into the interior of the cell ; and 
her eyes meeting with those of the renovated Livingston, 
she advanced ; and laying the gourd upon the earth, 
retained for a time the same position, inclined on one 
^ide, while, with her graceful neck turned towards him, 
^he continued to look upon him while she spoke. 

" We hail strength restored, as the blue bird hails the 
melting of the snow ; and I rejoice to see tliat arm, 
which preserved my father, so strong as lo*support thy 
bead. .Look down on. that plain, and every bough shall 
nod, and every bird shall $ing thanks tc niro, who saved 
the kipg of the Lenape." 

" Those boughs and those birds must proclaim in 
their hymn, that your hand has repaid the debt of gra- 
titude a thousand-fold upon me." 

" We are taught to believe that a blessing returned, 
being hot justice, can never efface the injpression of 
good, first bestowed upon us. As the white lily of the 
sleeping lake, when its cup is filled with the willing 
drops of the dew, stores the drink in preference to the 
Kilters of the lake, which bathe its head ; so is the un- 
called blessing more sweet than debt repaid." 

" Yqu forget," said Livingston, his languid eye kind- 
ling as be ga^ed upon her, ^' that it was but a sense of 
14 



158 

justice, which prompted me to save Tadeuskund from 
the bands of a villain." 

""But in so doing, thy generous mind paused not in 
the thought of danger, from white or red warrior, made 
blind by the spirit of war." 

^* Did you then pause, and shrink from the danger^ 
Around you, when you braved such horrors to extricate 
me from the enemy ? " said Livingston. 

" Oh ! we shall speak too long ; and our knowledge 
shall be the same at last. Little can be gained from 
two obstinate hearts. Take our cares, if thou list, as 
favours. But let us plant the memory of thy good in 
our hearts, that it may flourish and never fail in its 
blossoms." 

Saying this, she rose from her reclining attitude, and 
offered once more a beverage to his lips. 

" But tell me," continued Livingston, " angel of the 
desert, are you indeed the daughter of Tadeuskund f 
Pardon the question ; whatever be your birth, you 
would grace the noblest still, but your complexion 
speaks another race." 

Elluwia ceased to smile, and was silent for a time, 
raising her head till her dark locks were all severed 
fronl their fond abode on her bosom. No pride, how- 
ever, no anger were shaded on her beautiful features ; 
for she seemed to meditate on the loftiest themes. At 
last she spoke, 

" Tadeuskund always called me daughter ; and El- 
luwia, since she feh her bosom breathe, called him 
father. Such a word, by its glory, would melt in the 
coldest heart the memory of any other name." 

Livingston perceived, that without giving offence, he 
could not prosecute his inquiry ; and resolved to wait 
till future time, to solve the mystery, which seemed to 
attend the life of his preserver. Destitute as he was 
of the prejudices of Europe, he could aot however re- 
frain from revolting, at the idea, that so perfectly beau- 
tiful and noble a beipg should descend from the race of 



159 

the ^savage tenants of the woods; and from wishing 
that it might be discovered that she belonged to his own 
nation. 

Thus passed many days, during which Burton con- 
tinued in the warmest language to exhort the natives to 
observe peace with men, whilst he daily paid long 
visits to his . friend, whose strength was rapidly re^ 
turning. Elluwia continued her assiduous cares ; and 
£ven Conrad succeeded in relieving his pains, while 
be more and more, even with his blunders,. gained 
the avenue of his captain's heart. But the main 
object of his thoughts, of bis cares, and wishes, Living- 
ston had centered in the lovely Elluwia, who, in tbeir 
walks among the cliffs and giddy rocks, gave him re- 
peated evidences of the virtue and elevation of her 
character. 

" He was no longer a convalescent, and had recover- 
'ed bis vigour and natural elasticity of spirit, when on 
the eve of the day appointed by Tadeuskund for the 
general council-fire, Burton and the chief informed 
him that the tribe being now for the most part more 
inclined for peace, and nearly reconciled to the whites, 
it had been thought not only safe and prudent, but even 
important, that be, Livingston, whh Burton, and even 
Conrad, should be present at the ceremony, where art 
and native eloquence were to be displayed, that their 
attendance should add to the solemnity of the day, and 
countenance those, wlio most inclined for the English. 
In consequence, in company with Elluwia, they prepar- 
ed that day, to descend into the vale, that on the mor- 
row they might be early on the spot, where the council 
was to jopen by dawn of day. 

Conrad, who was now quite domesticated in the 
comfortable cell of the mountain top, seemed restless, 
and averse to leaving his new lares for unknown climes, 
where his sca^;), once more the subject of his anxiety, 
might run some new risks, and sustain new assaults. As 
he puffed, with an abstracted look, the last volumes of 



160 

smoke from his extingoisWng pipe, be looked around, 
sighed, shrugged his shoulder, and lastly collecting his 
fortitude iti all its shades, and quoting those lines, ivhicb 
perchance he had learned when exchanging academical 
honours for a pair of shears, . • 

Quid sit futuram eras, fuge quserere ; et, 
Queni sors dierufla canque dabit, lucro 
Adpone 

he hastened to depart, giving an impulse to his boots^ 
which,. by many steps, enabled him to precede bis com- 
panions, already on their march. 

They continued, after leaving the summit of the 
ridge, through a path, the steepness of which slackened 
the swiftness of their course, until they reached a sweet 
sequestered meadow at the foot of the mountain, wberv 
a little rill meandering through the dale, watered tb« 
roots of the rich lu!turiant trees which shaded its pen- 
sive borders. But this, though a miniature of th« 
charming valley of Wyoming, was but the suburbs, as it 
were, of the more extensive plain below. After passing 
over various hills and hillocks, growing less and less iti 
their elevation, like the billows of the sea, as one ap- 
proaches the shore ; they reached the level plain, wbic!fi 
the maje stick Susquehanna devides and enriches with it$ 
watery stores. 

Near the bank of the stream, was situated the Indian 
villag^e which the Lenape tribe, once so powerful, nov^ 
comparatively so few in number, had sought for their 
last asylum ; but who were already threatened with in- 
vasion, disturbance, and even expulsion* From many 
a smoking hut issued many a warrior, who advanced to 
greet the return of his chief. Thurensera, who had 
oft visited 'Livingston in his shelter on the mountain, 
was one of the first to offer his salutations to the foreign 
visitors; but some warriors, who had advanced to receive 
Tadeuskund, refrained with a frown froip the accustom- 
ed civility to these strangers, except to Burton, who 
was known and loved by the tribe. 



161 

In a plain, though more spacious cabin than the rest, 
did Tadeuskund abide. There he invited his guests to 
repose themselves ; and offered them to partake of his 
frugal repast, ere they retired to sleep. 

" Thurensera," said the chief to bis Parmenio, " has 
Wancomand shewn yet his face, with his warriors, to 
our fires ? " 

'^ Wancomand is come, and lighted his fire on Maple's 
. hill. The oiher tribes are also here 5 their smokes 
curl over the plain around us." 

Conrad, who had not heard the fatal name of Wan- 
comand, without a certain involuntary tremor, could not 
refrain from making his remark on that score. 

" My fery tignified and bowerful king, you may re- 
member that on a day of action, I can shew the prafery 
of kreat king Frederick, who kifted me with a sword 
at the battle of Brague. Now ergo, you will not attri- 
pute ft to teficience of couracbe, if I entreat your 
machesty to remint Vancoraand of the duty of a soltier, 
which is to spare the neutral powers. Now I am quite 
neutral in this comsell-fire ; for Fritz Conrad of 
Kraatzenbach is u supchect of Frederick, wha is at 
peace with the Mangoes." 

" The coward, nor the brave," said the chief, glanc- 
ing at Conrad, then at Livingston, " have ought to fear 
from Waocofnaiid at a council-fire, where Tadeuskund 
siill smokes the calumet of frif ndship. His arm, though 
his mind be for peace, shall extend over his children 
and friends, and strike the fiend who she* ild blow the 
spirit of war in the council of peace." 

The repast being finished, Tadeuskund shewed bis 
guests to a place where an ample bed, made of moss, 
had been prepared by the provident hand of the atten- 
tive Elluwia, who had spread over th6 common couch 
warm buffalo skins which might guard the strangers 
from the cold north wind, that began to convey in its 
blast large flakes of drifting snow. Thanks to the care, 
of Jiiiuwia, tb^^v soon found sleep in the warm folds* 
14* 



142 

of tbe far; and except by the constant efforts of1:he 
storni) their rest was not interrupted during the dark 
hours of night. 

With sun -rise cp the niorrow, the wind abated ; and 

the snow, ceasing to fall, permitted the sun to enliven 

vthe scene, which was preparing over the peady inanile 

now covering the earth. The Indians, assembling tm 

an elevated spot near the stream, swept the snow from 

Ihe ground ; and formed a vast circle on the arena, 

where the council was' to be held. There Tadeuskund 

led Ijivtngston, Burton, and Conrad ; the latter, wiihal 

I the assurances of the chief, feeling but little secui^ty 

! amidst so many grim visages* 

Livingston was struck with the sublimity of the spec- 
tacle before him. Tbe hillock^ on which the assembly 
stood, was crowned with tall thick trees, the boughs of , 
which were now destitute of leaves, but from winch, 
instead, hung myriads of little, glittering idcies, formed 
the preceding day. Each of these, refracting and re- 
flecting the rays of the sun, just rising above tbe hori- 
zon, poured over the scene, torrents of golden light, 
dazzling the eye by its increasing splendour. In tlie 
meanwhile, the old lowering trunks of the trees, ascend- 
ing just between tbe sun and tbe gazing eye, displayed 
a new spectacle on the plain of snow. Their long, 
blue shadows formed concentric lines, departing from 
that part of the horizon, where the blazing torch of day 
sbone with unwanted majesty ; and seemed then, more 
than ever, to proclaim its own power, as the great 
source from which flows all the glory and magnificence 
displayed to mortal eyes. 

Such sublimity in nature was likely to enslave the 
attention of Livingston, as long as his eye could discern 
a ray of light, had not his heart then, by means . of 
another object, obtained a constant ascendency over hia 
imagination. As he looked in every direction for Ella- 
wia, whose presence or absence bad an equal power to 
accelerate tbe beatings of his heart, he at last recognised 



163 

her at the foot of the elevation, deeply engaged in con- 
conversation with Burton, who bad receded for that por- 
pose,fora.titne from the crowd, and who sheweduinwont- 
ed signs (^ animation in his gestures, whilst even emotion 
seemed 4iscemiUe on his brow. Livingston would havse 
leaped from the hill, to hear the sounds of a voice, 
which ifarilled so sweetly in, his heart ; but was prevent- 
ed by Tadeuskund, who seemed to fear for him the 
latent enmity of the various tribes, thronging in every 
direction. Presently, Livingston saw Elluwia part from 
Surton, with seeming reluctance, though not greater 
than his own, and mingle with the crowd of females^ 
who, not permitted to bear the deliberations of the 
council, were assembled, however, to witness the scene. 
Burton in the meanwhile, slowly returned to his friend ; 
but when near him refrained from alluding to the topick 
which seemed just then to agitate his mind. 

Meantime, the Indians had now taken their appointed 
tfitations around the fire. The chiefs^ orators, and oldest 
warriors were seated on the ground; whilst behind 
them stood the younger spectators, forming the outer 
ring ; still farther, and the last, were seen a select num- 
ber of youthful warriors, who received admission as a 
favour, to hear, and to learn by the transactions vof '^ the 
great, the important day." A post ornamented with red, 
was also erected near the centre of the arena, the sight 
of which column excited in Conrad's breast, painful 
though somewhat glorious recollections of the goal, that 
being reached by him, had once become a protection 
from the scourging hand of women and mischievoue 
urchins. 

The first orator who spake was a Mingo, whom Liv- 
ingston recognised for the same, who, sent as a scout, 
had brought to Wancoroand the unhappy Awannon, 
so basely butchered by the prophert* The savage 
speaker bore in his hand a hatchet painted with red, 
which he laid on the ground, and in the other a string 
of wampum wtricb he retained while be spoke. H« 



V- 



164 

advanced towards Tadeuskund, and drawing himself up 
spoke thus — 

'^ Cousins, our band offers this belt to yours, that 
your ear may be attentive. We couie to you to siiloke 
a pipe of peace, and open your eyes } for your eyes 
have too long been closed/* 

" Cousins, how. long will you let the white race 
trample on your bodies, and continue to snatch from 
your hands the land that you gave them to water with 
the blood of your veins? The smoke of their fires 
blackens the bones of your fathers ; and the air which 
you breathed at your birth, is no longer your oWn. 

'^ Cousins, those hills, and the mountains beyond, 
and the plains which from their highesi peaks can be 
seen, were all once trodden in peace by your warriors^ 
and children, and wives ; and now the very ground 
where you spread your mantle of sleep is haunted by 
the shadows of the white. Their dogs are barking ia 
your fields, and the owl as it responds to their yells, 
hoots in your ears — The murderers are near, 

*' But the Great Spirit has spoken. The wind which 
brought the white froth on our shores is tunned and 
blows heavily now ; it will wash over the great lake the 
very air tainted by the stum, and drown the land 
from whence it came. The red warriors are roused. 
The bright sun is rising, and shines upon the war-path 
opened by their hand. All will march on ; all will 
wear off the very handle of their tomahawks in the 
skulls of the whites, and their blood shall make our 
warriors drunk,— drunk with meeter drink than tha 
poison which their hand pours in our throats before the 
cowards cut them with their knives. 

" Cousins, too long has the hatchet been asleep in 
your hands. In old limes, enslaved by our fathers' 
arms, you yourselves were made the women of the In- 
dian tribes ; but now once more you are tnen, and may 
smoke the pipe of union with men. Take this wampum 
in sign of assent to the words of my mouth, and take 



165 

up jond hatchet from the ground, that we maj all unite 
to crush the serpent that crept near our hearts." 

Three times ere he stopped, the orator had interrupt- 
ed his speech to perform various gestures expressive of 
bis message ; first, extending his arm with the warn* 
pum belt to the Lenape, then taking the hatchet from 
the earth, and rtishing to the post, which, as a foe, be 
seenaed to attack, to avoid, to pursue, and lastly to 
slay ; then, the victory obtained, a dance of exultatioa 
terminated hi? pantomime. Having now ended his 
speech and his mimick show, he once more offered tbe 
string of wampum to Tadenskund and his old counsel- 
lors ; but no hand was stretched forth to receive. Agaia 
did he point to the hatchet on the sand, but no warriof 
rose to accept. 

The speaker then, with discontent and spite in bi« 
eye, slowly turned to his associates and resumed his 
seat. As soon as tbe centre of the ring, by bis absence, 
became vacant again, Thurensera rose to answer, and 
stepped forth, his brow upreared, bis arm extended 
forward; but first, in silence, seemed to collect bis 
ihoughis awhile ; then spoke thus — 

" Cousins, — ^for thus even women may call you,— 
neither the wampum nor the hatchet will we receive. 
Our will is strong, and our eye deceives us not. Wam- 
pum we give, and take not. Our hatchets are our own ; 
and though we be women, we strike our enemy with 
our arms, and call no warriors to our aid. Our hatchets 
we lift, or We lower, or send, or bury, as we list ; and 
spurn the thought of being led by tbe hand to a path 
well known to our eyes. 

*' Cousins, the white race has often trodden on our 
ground ; and at tiroes, our tomahawks have clashed 
with their blades, but other fiends have haunted our 
walks. Often has the hooting of tbe owls told us that 
a foe was gliding in the shade, but tbe foe when caught 
in the snare proved not to be of the white race. 
Awannon fell not by their hands, and though womeoi 



I6d 
itoany whose breath fans my face will arenge his 

1)01198. 

" Cousins, we believe the Great Spirit has spoken. 
His voice is great, and is beard by the ant and the fly, 
as by the wolf and the bear. But bis voice whispers 
in our ear, that we are men, and tea«;hes us to crush 
the white or the red, when we know the evil spirit by 
their breath. The blasts of the wind are turned indeed 
but it gives strength to our limbs to resist and destroy. 
The reed and the oak both grow through the storms, 
and gf?in power from the tempest when o'er. 

'* Cousins, your warriors may take back the wampum 
and the hatchet. Our hands B.fe free, but our minds 
are not willing." 

Saying this, he slowly resumed his station by his 
chief, whilst Wancomand, rising in his turn, preparedio^ 
speak and to employ his deepest arts to convince or de* 
ceive. On his face, an Italian observer might perchance 
have traced marks of disappointment, anger, and the 
warring passions of ambition, hatred and revenge ; but 
he seemed to the crowd, impassive, as the congealed 
earth which he trod. He assumed the wampum, and 
extending it forth, he spok,e. 

** Cousins, (though brother^ would be now a meeter 
name to my heart), the Great Spirit' in me shall speak, 
and your eyes shall kindle ; for ihey are closed to the 
rays of his sun that shines upon me. Listen to my words. 
, " Cousins, look on this plain, now hardly your own. 
It has not land enough to cover the bones of your 
fattiers. Your path is too narrow for 'he living, and the 
living are few. Yet your fathers were once so numerous 
that their numbers had no name. Open your eyelids 
and see the light, which the Mannitto sheds from my 
breath. The beavers when in tribes build dams that 
stop the torrent, and grow numerous and strong, but 
when divided by strife their labour is vain, and they di^. 

V;My words have kindled a fire whidi has spread 
jfv^v the farthest hills of our land, You see the light that 



I6T 

will dazzle your eyes ; but you alone have resisted the 
flame. The victory of the strong is certain ; for the 
spirit of light roars victory in the air. Join hand in 
band with us in the feast. Dance with our warriors the 
dance of war, and take the hatchet, which your fathers 
laid in sleep, when they chose to be the women of our 
tribes. 

" Cousins, listen not to the voice of those whom the 
spirit of darkness leads to peace. Thus the fish in the 
night are allured by our moving fires, and one by one? 
die by the point of our forked bones. Thus clouds of 
flies in those fires rush to be consumed. The big 
mammoth once trod in our woods, and threatened to 
devour the living of the land ; b«it the Great Spirit sent 
down his thunder, and tore the flesh from the bone of 
t^ Jast. The same thunder roars now in your ears. 
Listen, rise, and obey." 



CHAPTER X. 

Who on bis staff is this? Who is this, whose head is white with age? 
Whose eyes are red with tear& ? Who quakes at every stepf 
I am alone, my son. OssiAir. 

Wanco^and, having spoken, cast around a glance of 
scrutiny ; and observing that his speech had produced 
a perceptible sensation in the audience, he resumed his 
seat ; after having once more pointed to the hatchet on 
the ground. No one rose for a time ; but the agitatioa 
produced by his words was evidently alarming. Some 
among the oldest counsellors were moved with passions, 
perchance, which Burton and their chief had prevailed 
over them to conceal, but had not repressed. Little 
was uttered by them, but low murmurs swelling in the 
still silent air, had in their stern solemnity, far more 
dangerous a tendency than loud clamours, the result of 



i68 

momentanous provocation. Many had their ^yesupoor 
XiiviugstOQ and hid friends ; and in their dark, grim 
-countenances could be read ominous eomity and rage^ 
but Tadeuskund was there. 

Meantime, as no one dared to lift the weapon nor to 
9peak| Wancomand profit^ by the moment of awing 
$ilence, reigning in the assembly, to strike the last blow. 
.^He once more rose, no longer like an earthly orator^ 
I but like a being inspired with divine intelligence and 
'command. Rushing to the burning pile, he seized a« 
i>lazing brand, which be held, seemingly unhurt by the 
flame, in his hand ; and spreading profusely on the coa^ 
a ray stick powder which emitted a thick heavy smoke, 
be turned several times rapidly on his heels, until tha 
vapour formed a magick^veil around him. Thus, partly 
seen through the cloud, his prophetick gestures appear^ 
ed to the superstitious bands, in that mysterious H^t, 
i^vhich inspires terror and conviction in the weak. At 
! last he feH in the convulsive fit of inspiration, oft dis- 
5 played to the beUeving throng ;^ and after writhing and 
* rolling his limbs on the ground, he rose breathless, tit- 
tering on his feet and directing his steps to where the 
hatchet lay, stamped on the ground with one foot, and 
placii^ the other on the blade of the weapoki, whicb» bj 
some means known perhaps only to himself, began to 
emit a thick smoke qs if about to be inflamed. The 
yapour, curling in mystic k. volumes, as it rose, ppee 
more enveloped in its fold^ the form of the prophet^ 
who^ for a time, was hid from the profane eve of men. 
When the smoke dispersing slowly in the air, ceased to 
vejl his trembling limbs, he appearecf holding in his left 
hand a roll of birch bark, which, when unfolded, looked 
like a map, on which various hieroglypbicks were rude- 
ly designed. 

" The Great Spirit came down," said he with a hol- 
low tremulous voice. " His words are still within me. 
The warmth of bis breath burns me, and the bolts of 
of his Jightnings still deafen ^y ear. Harken, brothers, 



•^ ^ ' - ■ ■ * : V - . .'- / ♦ ■ :: •* •. :■ 

'id bis fwc6, and.fte^ fers ^fts. 'thisejAgf/ot ootc Jaiid 
, W Iracerf jn, my hand wiitj. the Wood of ibe white: See, 
Uhose pkjiasy bflce .jroars ; he give^ "thwi baek with the ' 
boDes of your fathers. Women^ he qo longer calls you^ * 
^bul bids yoii take the hatchet which he seat.* • , ^ • . ', 
, . " See yoD clpad, wh^re the. eagle hides her wiog.^ 
/ His arm is CQnceaI^d in its folds. , It shall ride in the 
f. air, and rest do t^eir heads. Qd the heads of the ivhife. 
''.who shallrSbiTHil^ from .its wtigbt). and the storin *w^^ 
^-'oyel' fihaltbare^ swept from our land, eten to the raarkfi.' 
' .. df tbeip foo^teps on the strariiji The voiqe from above 
jJip longer shall sdund ; ^ for it Bfade^ you obey,-eand.faiS* 
hahd^ shall acdomp^b the I'est;^*' 
f Here. he ^topped ; and conrinced 'by speaking signs,^ 
'^Ib^v'nwight eould^'be sstid Id. excite a .greater d^-^ 
• gred^of enthusiasm^ he turned to his station, having 
.'.thftSwn in tb^ air the pretended design of a divihe hand, 
^ ID tbeshape of atnsips which, fanned jfi its way b^ the 
Horthcs'n breeze^' feiX at last at the feet of one bf those 
^Wtrriors, ^ho seenlfed'naostjncliD^d to declare for war, 
^rSSm'lh sflhe t>f'his kingly chief* The excitement 
. Jwas at Ks height, aiA seemed to bod)^ strife and revolt* 
.'■^.Several* warriors had- »se& ftom thfeir seats, clenching 
' jJViBff teeth,^%)id pantjiiglbt revenge, demanding war ia/ 
. t.'lheiif looks* ^Qctne, treSpassifig against the. wonted res-' 
> pect-of XncBans for the/ule^ observed at a council-fire, 
' il^§^n in their kindling' wriith; to^ elevate thehr warring 
'^ voices in louder ri^t^s., ia a worjd*, tumult, discord, and 

• , bloodshed Seetned ine^wtable* JJ^eanwhiie, Tadeuskund, 

isptlm,' fiHtnovt^d ^s tbe^ anvil in the forge, remained in 
toorirful i^ileace, and seemed to defy the heaviest as* 
r iiautts* Hk looks lllone were a host against the tremu- 
lous throng of the doubting menials of eiitbraliing supeiv < 

• station? Tliough himself enslaved by superstitious rites,^ 
he fasd petietmted through the designs and deception of 
the miy prophet, and was pleased thus to tower, tin* 
shaken, in the storm, regardless of the impoteat billows . 
assailing his feet. 

15 








/fiellioiiy. the vi^arrior at .whos^ feet the iatjd ta^H^^^^ ' 

* fell, encounrged'by tb0 w?cident in.his dariog g^JiNN^ 
Imped CO a.sudden from lUs seat, and ru3biii^t|i[^i% f 
ll|e pleiigettfirai') prepared to raise it from.0^^\rW^ 
wd ibtisacQjBbttbe ^keg of discord ^ wiie^^'Ta^^^ 

. "kobd, starting frotn |)i& apparent letl^^gy, boQ^d^l^ 

tp • interpose; ai^ seizing tbe extended arm df tb| 

* rior^ arrestftd bim by bis grasp, as the irpn scj^efv clf 

/ tbe bending metal eoploaed id its j^W$^ He ti^m^'2 

' aod the nogry bands af once ware bqskf d^l^ , 
ipwiestinfurn^urs. - li would, havf^ seemed fi^.^ 
4iftbi(Aen 'silenCei tbat^eace claimed in vaki,b||j^ 
the only cause "which called forth their/^^IfncniW 
;^V wraths . ^ ,i* 

^ Let daring weakness learn wIsdoiDiU he ssnii\ 
a mastaipg yoice. " Storms .aftd anger suit'tbcji ^^ ^ 
or tbe weak J b(^t the strong is unt](io?ed.< JBiis sp^' ^ 
firm, and jcbanges not, as the bjr^atb of^the Witid^b^^^lr - 
9tm*!^iii0 sport jwJtb bis wlll« Xadauskiipd's .foil^ j^^^^ 

*fcr peace/ The bolt can, destroy bis'Jimbs^ W:c'^ll%J'' 
change bis mm4^7 Against th« i^ite, his toln^^^lk^^T -' 
aball not be raised. , A tree o5 p^fSiO was plapt^».b^^*ih. 
pur father^ witbr th^ good ^iend, .wbQ;4^roug^>(k^]^ ^/ 
children among u^.* «Tb^ arie still ^iendfe to u^^,, J^g^r - 
.of their race/. thpugli of ; wea\er fipirity b^f^;J§i^m^.. 
strength from their arms, butvQUrs %re e^ei'^t<m^^j^' 

i will destroy the .lurking fiend8,'WJ;ib^t«ay from tbeir^^i9 J ' 

^ to slay in the dark, or jhe glid*ng^-addj^s.lbat,wpafi|v' 
dazzle our eyes with a deadly.cltfurm.^ ; •' '^■^ti*' •< 
" Brothers," continued be, turning to his m^, ^Uet^ 
those among you, who breathed pffaqe to my ^ar,- ere - 
tbe son -awoke from the gneat lake, stand forth before 
me, and let tfaeir spirit be ^8tPong•'' > . ^ . 

Insttmtly, as be spoke, Thurensera and the greater 
. fMurt of his warriors, submisuvely rose and advAnoed in 

. piofoimd liilence, as if all were of one mind, and obey- 
ed tbe spontaneous impulse of their will. 



' • : « Brdthers, friends, abd tyarriort,'* be thi^n ei^cliTiin- ^ 
ed, ^ tbb songs of peace, sungthis morn by your moujibs; . 
'^hnve bardty reached the ear of the Great Spirit afoor^ 
. who welcomecf tbeir sounds, for you* spoke, the ktiowl^ 
edge of your fiearts. fler can baVe btit one will ; his J 
, Wled peace in tlie morn, he wiH§ peace; at rtoon^und ac 
>tiiglit/ As long' as you hail bim chief, who^was called 

liy your mouth? "to comraand,''his voice shall be fot • 
^ peace, with those that 'sit* in the shade of the tree -^ 

• planted by our friends: ' Tadenskund fears the gifts^of . 
those, whose arts and lareapoiis he. despised and defies^ \ 

;i have declared my wHl, speak yours." ' ^ *. . , 

* - He then stopped^ awaiting Aeir answer ; but stem 
isilence expressed alone the ihdecisioa of their, min^s* 
No , one, opposed to his will, seemed iriclifled to confront • 
his ^rath or his scorn j whilst those, inclined to .remain 
kttachpd'to his vJews,' dared not expose thensB^lves to \ 

; 'tfie growling enemies of the white. Tadeuskimd^ still 

^ tranquil and fe&rless,* smiled 00 the jdpqbtinjg • bands • 
with a*snifle rather of pity than of- scorfr. ^At-lastiie 
said*— • . . • *s . .''*".,' • . 

- "Silence as welLas^words can s^k. Your voices 
to-, your ehitf were *of pestce^, L4t now those whc>se 

. nostrils Mow the spirit bf wafr coinfe .4«rth'.- Edt them 
dare with words df Wood 'the blood oTahebkhig, who 
sheds it for his. friends. Step fiiistj Thnre»Bera, and let, ^ 
your mind be known." 

' ' '!f Thurensera 'cheibses sllence^'^ Said ih^ young wai*- 
' ripr, '^ for peace is in his Jkreaajt.V - - . 

. ." '' The breast that breathes peace . is strong, for my 
arm shall' give 'it help. • iJnlesS the rest dare oppose, 

. their words given ftr peace shall stand." 
;^ Tadeuskund^ !^«^y*ng spoken, paused a while, that 

^ those, who. ibwatted inwardly bis- will might give their 
votes ; but? a9 b^ antfcfpated, no' one daVed thus 1t> incur 9 
his wnrth. He then turned finnly to the dart eh'lef.'ttfd , 

: liia Mingoe$9' an* raising the siring of wampirm-wllb^a . 
fiUck. frpm the gronnd, .tpssed it tqwafds-th6m, iiaying^ 



"'-•'*' , •■ ■• -in . . • ■ '■-.■■ ..'■■'■■ • 

/•'"Take bacJc' gifts that ^^e scoira.'' feeizuig ^ei't the'- 
hatqhetjbe >cast it'' far into the waters of the -broad ' 
Sfiisquebanna ; aod tbrowiag.a look of defi^nide oo 
Wancornaqd and faisinep, folded bis neiYous arms •over ' 
his breast, and oncejnore paused. There was\fuch ao" . ^ 
hnposiBg east in his npbie ferb), and suCh hpldiiess In .^ ' 
' bis aptiohs/alway^ resistless dyer a muUiiiJde, lba( his.^^ 
. '; n)0st daring opjiosers were forced , to bow, fq Immble '_ 
-actiuiescence, their dark,' brows to the earth* ;\i^i^ iho 
. -Miogoe's, sjjent and dejected, were thrown intodismaj,, 
^ Meantime; Burton, who had mad^ himseK' Rvastar of/ ./: 

* . both ]anguages,'supposingfhat to be ^e foment Xo ad- \ 
' dress 4he assembly;, a^ a delegate Aolia' ^hjs society, . 

.advanced- in the centre of t]te circle,- and ^aid~ . ^ 
' ^* brothers, d^ar brothers and friends,* welcome, to " 
my^heart is inclination to peacel Our bands are ei- . 
' tended, in loj^en of, bur' wishes. We. came from the' . 

• -.Qtfaer side of the 'great lake to 6e your friends, and td ' 
M n^e as s^ch, aii^to-in^ire our children with the«sain« '\ 

love.' Retaembcr the treaty concluded under the great- 
tree by yoiif fathers with the friepd of your race jr w« 
■ have never Iprgblte*' that eagagement^and cherish the 
remembrance «s a naoniirhent of good faith tept sacred 
iTetw^eti* PS. till .this. day. . Rdij^ve jiot* t^iose/who - 
insinuate ih^t we cae iiicKpe for war. We call one " 
another christmns ; tbirt'tip.iBe ij g-iven to. rn^ri, saved by * 
the' blood bPoneJwhb was* spotless and holy, and wto- 
commanded \is by e^j^mpla ni\6 bywords lo forgive , 
offences, to loveour enemies, and' to die for ouftfaiilr* - 
Believe me, brothers; v^e- obey bis p):ece|)ts ii\ otir' '. 
hearts, arid woulH all 'be Beady to ijave our btood yowed 
ont to the last drop, that we* mi^ht save., ^^og floin op-^^ ; 
pression and strife. And you, filends)'^ turnip Jo'tjii^ / 
Mingoes, ^' r.ath'er tb^n sow di$qord," and brings ^he ^ . 
V hatchet of war, accept ,om- tokens 6f union-,. ancl join U9, 
^ under the tree of friend si) in to srapke with your brothers • . 
inpieaee ihe calumet of alliance aad.ldve. Sgenk •. 
your wrongs, if you have ^ufferefl. We, know that bftd 



•>;"-■ A '",".■ ■-.' V- ;' : : -il^.': .. ■ ^ ''"/./.-- -. •. \- 

, 'meofroim amongst us, \pd\y tfie-.evU .spirit, baVe abHsed -, 
« -your simpiicityy aM ^edyour W^ but 'believe irie/i 
; they arre not inenjrf ofir hearts, and .we "will doi ajl aS > 
men. and as* phristians.. to make atoe^jds. for^theijf \ 
. crimes." J. V .. "' .'• ■ ■..,*' 

♦ ' :Tb6feia..wbl'd^ produceii a gensMe .effect ^mong thi * 
'. IndliEtns. ",. Many were iQliGhed, the more deeply /as*' 
'; fiurtpn^svknguagQ wa& atfc6m|>alued..^ith unfeigned 
. tears, and «uch*jai lone of .earnestness, that »o one epuld: 
i -:, doubt the i^cerliy of his. protestations. Waoqomand, ' 
; \ ^owevei-y was iiot disbe^rtened^ and^ determined to 
. make bn^ more ?fKflt, b6rose> and extended fojrthlii^ 
^* . af m to. demand 'attention jo bis speech. But Tadeus- 
J. kundj fijlTjr a^are ^f the daoger lest fie ghbuld regain 
' . his empire by new deceptions; advanced. with feariess 
:.. halte, tifrfie confrojited the propliet^ ere be spake, find 
.^ thr&wirrg on him 'a look of contempt, k^ s^id— - - 
■ ^ //"Nofmord shall we he^f. Our hearts are fijH, and 
" \miglMfp(3^rmk<iur hands; to break the respect due to a 
"^ "c6uneil fij^/ Let'not the- nqrlhern^ blast ^sp(6rt loo long 
"^^tmk thefoof^ o# ofir fires- Tbe\daring lilack-bird may 
-conipei tbetatens of tke hawk 1S> chastise his obstinate 
' '*/ 'cfah-gs. Turn to-your |)ati|, aed b^ mute; tiH you can . 

* • ^d br«ath*^iri y^ur mbutb eo tetf yqur tribe^ the Lenape, 
^JTonce'calle^ wbmee by,sWv«s ofvoiglit, stand now with 
•Sa-tchets and tomahawks in Hheir hands.'- 

• ''\ jpis at%udQ so well cort-eepcyided "with his words, 

;V^«t \^uncQmand \^as.a|. once^cojivlnced of the urgent 

^, ^Hftcei3sity to cowi^ply with Us injtinctioo ; at least with 

* *' thif p»ij wh^H fhipl?el^ hi^insfhnt departure. In reality, 
-;;*the Lena p«, easily influenci^d in their feelings or de- 
. ^' pi^nk,a^tfie miiltifude at large is in this mutable world, 

\ those Ififej^ce sons of the woods revohing at the name of \, 
Vomen now, more than dreading bondage, had slaked ' 

*-thfeir animosity fof the white in the renewed fountain of 
affronts and humiliations, filled for ages by their oppres- 
sors, the Mingoes. They seemed now to pant after 
levenge of former wrongs, unmindful of present offei-s 
lb* 



-* A, 



m 



; *.to concilJute j'and Joofced ppori^ their. *eneaited^jas Ifae 
• on][y cause • af fiie\i bufferings a«jj .Vpproachlng tiiwiv 
/, iThas, the actito of -a/siigle tnaa' ^ad Sitfice4 to -arrest 
tjje'lorrent on,t&e^bri^k of itf boDds,^ao<J foifeed ii^^ 
i ^Wv^S^ ^9 jt wer^j tP beat away tbeir raige Htia -the dei-*' 
. *^irity trbiibh ^?<e*rt^; to their boiuidteg <wim. i . 
- ■ Yet, pne' man;, actuated hy flie ^UpjerstitiopS' ^hclieC; 
that Ke was chosen for ^urtpo^es |hw above, Wry pear- 
fly df^roye4 tbeVprt of*Ta^eQdl;Und/.ahd jhe hopc^s 
of Burtott. \. It was th^ Iadjaii,-'a^ the feet ff'Vfboin fell, 
the pretended map 'of the'impbsifor. Sqpp0siog.ihat*tij& 
tvas cdled to execute Ihe dictate of.ibe-JSt^atlSjjki^ 
in tiis diq)ensation%*a§ain§t Ibe )ivhiiesi h^, jpe^ml Hi^. . 
obey J a*id\ftrs.^ itoargfned • that bH djiij^ wi« tq* cail> 
Thureilteera to |iccqont,fQr the eaii^e of ttp^^Sudden ' 
change in the tnmds of his brbtherd. He ibevetoeeVd- . 
• vanced towards |)im,and began. thus to lipBraitf^Ws '|»e{*'^ 
fidy fcr resistitig the voide of the;fctterf j:^^^.pf dllcr^'^* 
from on*hfeh. ■■' ' . . .V \; j^;^ -T ' 

" A wonian pcjayest thou t)e 'called inJQejiV.I&f ifiy T 
cowardice bA Tweeted •^•tlia 'boly wash) that co^'bl^t' 
out the stain from dprfnftme. Hide thy .face um^efi.tl)^' 
darkest r0(|ii 'Gb.^feri^ piU ;^ ^bf ' qgakin^lpn*^ . 
wife's garm^ntUj or^hlir*rihds arid :%f .bEaidi^^^p3&^ :* 
occupations arevfiueV forjby heart, than tte .wi^lVfi^i^/ 
the tomahawkt ♦'The thunders of the bd^w.s^^* 
hencefortb strike terhor* initlieei ^nd 4|i[vB .|^< 
abodes of the Mrre/'J* ^^ ^ *;^ . ,* [ ^'Z K.V; 
"Thurensera Keaw the^rowJ pf \^e 5yi$pg 
but he, spurns meanly te'qi^arr^ ^Off? off! Ji 
. sight; the blood gushing from my lips andf '^esf, 
I can brook no more ; turn from my% sight, *^ 

me. . ^' 'iL^ -' 

**Rage i« thee! Woqjan, betbint thy self, W.tMy 
' * weakness. ' A woman may^laugh, or sing, or jdan^i^ pi* 
betray, but she dreads and ^hun8 d^n^ers) as IbQ cloud 
before the. blast from tbe lakes, (t is Hot ihe# to ttun 
from my path". Lspit otj fliee, a^d hate.tb^ siglit of'a 
.harlot witL.an useless weapoa in fier ftaadfi.'^ ' . 




V ■ V .%* 



11 5 ' - 



; This was filling the measure of the io^uks, which 
^Tbttfeesera cooW endure. His -face, swollen with an- 
ger, was in reality furrowed with crimson marfce. Till 
then his hpdy- bad r^tnained erect,, fleenjttigly nnmoved 
''by the storiii within; hue as his antagonist uttered the last 
word, hh was seizeii with one of these sn^d^n! paroxysms 
of rage, whjch hunrtan strength would strive in. vain to 
, ♦ control oi* Resist. Moving with- the ri^)>icKiy of the bird 
' that shoots from the clouds, for its prey, iiijothe^ bosom 
. of the^-seayi he fett upon his . unprepared . enemy, ^and 
. 'before the savage had moved one ner^e to oppose,, the 
•' batchet of*TWens0ra was buried in his brain^, even to 
'^. fthevery-lfoQr of his skuU.. ^ 1 y\ / ^ 
' \. The victim of superstition and wrath\fell at his feet 
. as a. tree blasted to its rools, by the ^Itfciiiek shock in 
ihje storm. . lo the m^enwhiJe, the £tsseml)ly, just now 
. * fixed^wiib breathless anentioH .upon the contest of the 
itwo brav^est watrjoj:* of the- Lenape^ were ^sfruc^ with 
- boWer. at the aighi befote. tljem* A inOme^nt df .lerrifick 
sil^qc.e e}^apsed,)iefore diioger Wz^s ^en t^mov^, or a 
*; whisper to r^aiind w the ait, ./But pr^sontlyj a tbou- 
sand'^vorces shouted "a- loud jreH,aifd filled ^liie -plain, with 

* threatsV ioyectivesy and J/nient^fions.' • ' , ♦. . 

* .Thyjrea^rn,' bereft of spee«hf siwd-far ;a time as if 

beieft alil^ft of his sirengjh ;,.«^ last Ije bowed Ws lofty 

' heacl. slowly to the gro*jnd» gnd -kuelt pn :one knee, in 

; lire; expettalityi [bf the «eofe8i;e,.of hr&brptjierjs*-. Thus 

., 'he r#tnained, till ipip4t]eint' .at Ae;(M*iy/aBd indecision 

of the /obstreperous *ero!gr4, W. raised Ws ,brow* and 

. signipg with hijg haM, hushed the claqaour '.of the 

^ Various bafiia^ who all were wilfing tor^ l^d an ear to 

Ms ybioe.* * -- * ' -' / * '. , \ '* 

f Broth*T:s,'**sai!d be^ ^" 'why aYe 'yoiir. arms so islpw in 

" *sh®ad{iiig the blood tpat^ his bones. re qukei^-^Nd other 

* gift can iitisfy fn^ mo^her^ for tb^ Iqps ^f $p brave a 
^ son, iTake a^a^y my breath; jt .is*«o heavy on my 
^•'hihgsi' thit jneibioks my own J^and- oou.W Aot do that 

' kitidnej^&^welt as &y brothers and frfeo^s." 



Tlie oMest counsellors and ' warriors assembfed In a^ 
crowded qircle, and seemed to djscyss, and corisuh one- ' . 
another upon. the judgment about to be passed upoa 
the noblest and best of their tilbe, save tbeir chief* 
They at last united in one voice ; aftd sdpcted the verj- 
oldest warrior to raaice known tha result of their d^lib^: 
' eration to the brave Indian and the- impotent.tHbey* 
The venerabfe Veteran advanced slowly to the spot \ 
where- Tburensera kneit, seeniin'gly unwilling ^to av^t • 
or postpone the execution of justice upon biin/. 

' " Rise," said the old warrior, with a te^r nibistefiin^ '. 
his eye 5 " rise, and be ^till the right arm of the stVbng.. 
The Leoape will no* take thy blood." • » "* • :* 
. ' Thurensera rose not, but wavc^d his band k) sign of'-\ 
impatience, aiid said — ''His mother .breathes'^ she . 
breathed through him. Words caOnot pay..* .Jtfy blood ' . 
Uone can dry ber tears." The Indian chiefs and jcoun-* •; 
sellers, far from v^ondering p his,, words, seemed to ^ 
assenf to Ws -persavering wisb fo aione for a. moth«r% * 
- 1q89, and deternJin^d to aw^it her decision/; whilst ; 
Thurensera^ fixed to the spot, coDiintied to renlidn'iti' 
the. same homble attitude. - ' . V.*. ' 

The rumouVj now $pbsidtng among the -spectSCtors ', 
atfd actors of the coimcil-fire, had spread for into tJbe 
plain below; and the cause wW soon knbwu to'^thei * 
anxious mo]tituide,';gazlng, at a distance On Ihe sceneV^^' 
' 3^he mother of the :warfior knew jt by.jrepM *ere;4ft<rV - 
\ warmth of her son's .breast }\pd mehed. the frojs'eoji^ ^ 
-> sed which wa^ aiotu i6 datiil his inortalKmbs.* S^e- 
. hastened forward . in' spite of the exoiuSiorf of her Vx i» 
' from the cottncfl-fire f and, piercing thrqu|h tbe npruWtii^^ • 
^ dinous ^pectatiii-s,- arrived *8^J tfie.faial- spot; *rith^-tei& '. 
''bliftgJidibs agd begg^iUlgoks. . « » - /*-' • ^'^:\- 

"* She - wWB oW, beot down- by. toil; and . seei^d "^bfirV 
.^ alike by care as by fears. • i^ large mantle v^eiled h«£^ 
'stooping, form k Its 'ibhis ; ^ntl ti staff (ao UBj^otfnoai' 
inddigende aqaong-the ^fttfy^ tribes) assisted s&d aeeelerr 
* ated her walk. 4iei> quaking head ^ilsb^y^asjAx^ 



. dfeheVetted locks'^ ^hich ther hami «f time hkd spar^i , 
/'but ^iz^Ied *yit^ iioary shades ;, and 5ujDh Was ibeir- 
, prof umoQ, that litde could be discerned of herfeaturejs, 
-^#ve tb^ e^Kpr^i^on 61* &orror and g^ief^ As she per* 
; ceivedllie body of iidrsoa, far- (raip sinking "lijader the 
.T^eight-;of Jbar SorroWj shil seeWed to have recovered 
ihf^vigput of former, years ; and casting tho crutch from 
h^r. hand,^ as if to inock nature fof^havipg deprived her . 
- ,bf the living ^taff of her old age, she idr^^tv up herl ' 
\ wasted forrfi, Raised her/toead and threw back her hair 
froxn her face, that she tpiigtil see th^ h^av^bos, where 
\«he looked, as it Wei^, for tlt^ cause: of* the pumshrnept 
.desceBftiled.Hipon her^ . Thus sb4S!«sto6d for a time, white ' 
the warriors softly receded with refepect for -her ^ qef, : 
leayiog h^r alonei in the centre ;pfvth6:5circle^wHbThu-' 
reus^ra^ who still fbimofked/m the same^kdeelmg aak 
4lid^ by %e Mdie'of tbe'DQW.atifiened cdrse of her sooi 
At ]|ist'sbe looked, down ; and m a moment all 'the^ 
^nsatierfs of i, mother, ,bereA of lier /only blessing, 
' : fashing ' ppon hier, seemed' to usher forth feinintoe sen- 
-sibility;alopg; with the bewailings of fiature; Her eye' 
bK^ame filled wiib tears^, ahd> from, that rpon^ent she 
rung' the ' air with her cried atid lamentations.. 3he 
threw vjierself Ota the earjh/whera hei^.tesj;^ were. blend- 
ed with <he blood of her son' ;,.ftod'ai$ &tie pressed his , 
^hand in h,er oivo, shS felt,*with mtiternal horror, that 
doatb,.wkH Iris freezing bonds, iiad- already focced that- 
^)o^e obedient hand to resist her fervent grasp. It was^ 
t^en that she 'abandoDed herself to 9II «ihe demonstra- 
iio«te of sorrow, whi&b she had .till ^beaeither restrained * 
jof been. unable. to express. * , 

Having, as if were, exhausted the words t« utter, and 
, the strength 10 coatinue hey. Gomplaipts, sh^ raised 4ier 
head, stjir kneeling ; and- lifting Op bolh hands, whieh 
§]^e Gasped together, addressed .a prayer abo«e. 

i* Gregt Spirit of light and^life/^iy son has left me- 
Jlis. b|;eaib was too ihighty for thi^ voicld. Lead him 
b^' ^Ji^thafid, JQ'bid wayU) ihc. ricb^'^oliptry of the 



. ' . "^ ; '. ' ■** - ' * - . ' • ' • ■ / 

.diMh <jive hini Strength ; fo.'snstim bi^ greac^riame;; -] 
that liis mother, whea she ia€piB hltn^ may l^apfor jdj^'- 
ifi his. pew abode." .-.'..''* 

'Meantime, whil6 she' seemed absofbed in ihoiights^oC ,:* 
another world, Thurensefa, inipatietii-^hat ^he should «tf 

. long postpone her vengeaiice; rose also, and offered trf "- 
extract * his- hatchet from the skuH i>f ^her son^ that f^ / ' 
fistght place in her bands 'tiie.we;fpph that terminated.. •*" 

' hts life, arid that she might employ it m >sb.eddiog, bis*" ; 
OWn'blood, a^mi atbnenient for her loss. But she bad - - 
ng soQner aeen hitn make the' fittempt, than> rashlng la'^ , 
JDterpose^ she seized the weapon, and "strove to oppoi^ '' ». 
his effort with h*er..(eebl^ hands, . " . - - rV 

" <Stay^ stay," shd cried. * ^ Disturb not' the ^ea.d. .. " 
Letnhe .hatchet .riist tbef^^ rather than give, hie. raotbeir.-^ 
means to slake her anger in^ thy. blbbd. Thou urt the . 

. right arm of tb^ strong." , " / * . ' : 

. " Woman," said Thnf enserii, U I have killed thy son.* * 
My blood alone can layhfs bone^ td rest." ' "- - 

" Speak hot, so loud, lest he should hear and return ;*v 
lo prompt toy hartd to satisfy * ray jrevengel Thyjblopd - 
cannot give bfeath to his lungs, nor do his -bones ne'ed^ 
rest amongst Us. • I-^ rather .fear,. lest if I shouldT tak^^ 
life from thee,'.! sbould^tfaus send the bravest enemy in. 
jiis wlty Ito the rich country of the dead, and strfeW new, 

^ dangers, in his path." ' ' ' * ' •' 

" Fear not ray arm for him there.; for-my reveoge Is 
filled; The weary vVarrlor -quenches bis fever in the- 

: stream; btit drinkairot, when he ts no longer thirsty. 
Hasten to Spill my blood, For vengeance makes thee 
hangry, arid I hate to see thee weak." • *' *' "T 

Tbe old mother of the brave seemed startled by- 
; these words.' She boged- indeed to satisfy tbe.T^aihigs * 
fof her rage.; and oti he?r qufvering lips, one could reid 
the conflict of the. various, passions uhich agitated hei 
souh He? ghastly eye \v^s fixed upon the weapoq 
which she 4?dntinufed ta-hold •, 'whilst Tburensera still 
itroire, buj io'Vainito fooisen it from its bony cell, It was 



■ ■-' f -!/'/• • . '- -.. ' * ' >*.'- V' * -^ • ; 
, an^ftflcidve^Jipeclftcle to see. her,*:w«kerjng iii Ihe gm^ ' 
ffopo the wound of ber fiODiJeaning over hifl^dy, and/ 
l:;oDt«idipg with tlie murderer, to wrest from* hk grasp 
' .tbe^.weapoD, whicJbxbe urged' her to bse> ae an ini^ri]- . - 
** ioaent of veageanco ujpoo l)imsel£, -Suddenly J:bowever^ 
. /sfeejseemed to have oYercdnje the'comending* passioa^ » 
in her breast*. Sbe rose, and eastiag off the exteraahi; 
*' . of maternal grief, which sh^ perb^ipe deemed weakoesSy' 
looked i;ound to see^, as it were, in -the cirdwd of" wap- 
; .Tiprg a^Senib.ledj for one! whose form orfa'mei recalling 
/ :^» image, might fill in her breast the vacancy lejTt ifaer^ V 
> ly bisv death; .bat. h^f dim, eyes, vaguejy 'glai^cing 
"'arquriiLl, wer^ not fiiect till they rested oh>ThulreG«e|tf^ 
" who stooi sUentiy bejfone ber.^ : ShoCTntiouedto p»use, ^' 
.' then said^ * > " . , ♦. \ . 

.. ."If .thod (Jidstdcill "my son, why- should ^his mother 
repine ? * Thy hand sent him jo the: rich country of the 
dead/wber©*.njDi%ht js lacked by the irave., \Tby hand - 
\eai4^ prop my ol3 age In Jus siead. . Be my soif, and die .^ 
:.obf. .Thou baSt ooiaotfier. - I'bayp. no spi>; but^was ' 
,lhe mother af one, yhos^i place do .man but' tbou ca%" 
njeetfy filL. Com^ and laj thy bead in rest, under my« 
roof, and Warm thy Kmbs by th^ fire that was lit by my/ 
spn^^' ../> "^ ,— •' \' ".'.•. ^ ■' ,, ^ • ■ ' *"-; 

. .Thurenseja shewed on /his countenance nfo mark of 
joy, sorrow, or "astofjisbment, but seemed deeply to re- 
fleet. ^ In bia meditation, bis ey^ were, turned twice on 
his cbief ; and, in the lo6ks of Tadeuskund, he read, 
tbftj; bis life w^s a support, Vhich the heart and the antf , 
" of bis king could ubt lose at this boijir*; At once, was 

his resolution formed aifd fix^d. He inolined his bead • 
. towards the magnanimous mother of hi$ foo, stretched 

• but bis band ; and said, with a slight tpetnuloijsness in 

• bisvoice-T- . . * , . 

. ^' Woman, take . my bandi &nd call me son. • I now 
'will call thee mother, and.be thy son, in tby roof, in the 
forest, at the ooi|nciI-fire. Tfaorensera-s breath is thine, 
and the liring staff of tby age will be fdund as true as 
the dead." 






"Theb,*' said the wpman^ "my h^art |i%5, by the- 
fight of tlie s^ne sun, hpeo twicje made proud, of m;^^ 
blood, aod'now, am I rich and strong ; iogr^ ia the filains. 
bejovir, my 6t%i son prepares for his -oki mother the Jiesc' 
abode of rest ; whik here another shall hunt, the deer '- 
for my food/' , . . >-\; - ^ * 

' Speaking thus, she look liis band; aqd leaning over ** 
his atm, as she bad beea wont *to., do with her own ^, 
child, she,. prepared to depart; but ere she^l^ft tb^ 
scene she cast dovm bereye^, and toc^a silent^ thoogli 1 '. 
speaking farjsWell of the renaains'of her son. . ^ • ' 

Meanwhile, the oouneil-fire.b^.ing ov^r, {he ^r^ious 
chiefs and ^rriors w^re beginning to dispefrse^ . T)^ 
Mtnfgges, who, Qmboldeni^d by tbe^ tumult produced py ' 
the^latal quarrel, had.darisd .iolinger pn tjie §pot, after^^^ 
the threatening iojuaction given. theoJ to. retire^ ^ualljr . 
filed off irt silence with their chief; though not without 
' casting' on the «assembjy siinster. looks ef malicei and 
revenge. But, the wily prudence of Wariuomand re^-^ ' 
trained the signs of his ra^e and disappoin^tment.^ aQ<i. 
' -while Ke swore' in his heart the destruction .of him,«whQ 
' presun\ed ' 19 oppqse or to thwart, he refr^ed fro^ / 
.;; words which mfght betray ; alike his designs, a^d his 
•imposture. , . - •, - • 

Tadeuskund, during the last' scene, had stej*nly. re- 
mained on his se^t by Ms Triads, a silent spectator o£ 
the coolest, which his limited authority did not permit 
hinv to avert. As the assembly dissplved, be rose, and. , , 
. continuing to watch intently over, the life of his white, 
friends, led the ro- back in safety to hfs dwelling, where ^^ - 
they found EUuwia, who greeted their returri, antd in-' 
vited them-to partake of a re?past "which Iter hapd h^ad 
prepared.. , Livingston's heart throbbed with rapture, oa* 
discovering in the glance wferch she beptowed jupola him^ * 
aomething more than mere gratitude for the action ,of * 
aaving hei; father's life. He- longed to converse witb 
her, who had obtained the sole ecppira of his thoughts, 
and to penetrate, if possible, intQ a secret to which 



181 

Burton seemed no longer to be a stranger. But before 
Tadeuskund, who observed a solemn silence during the 
meal, he dared not speak the- doubts and hopes of his 
heart. 

Conrad was not blessed with a flow of his usual 
cheerfulness and verbosity. He ate but little, and 
spoke not; till be partook X)f the distilled waters of 
Jamaica, passing round in a cup, which his ruddy lips 
did not disdain to grace with a salutation, designed to 
obtain a free passage for a reasonable draught of the 
reviving liquor. While it inspired him with recollec- 
tions, perchance painful, of the old kirsh-wasser and 
gin of Westphalia, and a thousand such endearing asso- 
ciations, which possibly led the concatenation of his 
thoughts to rest upon the blanket recognised by him, in 
rflent sorrow, on the shoulders of Wancomand ; the 
beverage withal communicated to his tongue a partial 
restoration of the warmth which that organ, by its me- 
diation, had srlready imparted to his accommodating 
stomach. Though his philosophy had not drawn con- 
solatory maxims from the pages of Rasselas, nor 
paradoxical conclusions from those of Candide, yet the 
conciliating turn of his placid mind led him naturally 
to look in the fairest light upon the present, having 
little wish, and in truth little powers of foresight, to 
torment himself with cogitations on the future. His 
countenance therefore, as the liquor began to circulate 
through bis veins, regained its florid hue ; and a srnil^ 
was seen to pierce through the cloud which long had 
obscured the radiancy of his face. 

•* My fery eloquent prince," said he, at last to the 
chief, ** tell me, if so your machesty teigns, if you please, 
how these plack 6saged Mangoes tare to call youf ro* 
pust and tignified nation, by the name of women, which 
is an opprobrium upon themselves, consitering you wear 
no petticoats f '* 

Tadeuskund, who had made a freer use even than 
Conrad of the inebriating fluid, rose from his seat with 
16 



.182 

so abrupt and violent an imptilse, that the German re- 
pented his having touched upon so tender a subject, till 
observing a smile playing on the lips of the chief, who 
stepped hastily through the room, he became more 
composed ; thongh, had he been a more discriminating 
judge of cotmtenances, be might have traced fierce 
passions in that smile. 

" Women ! " repeated Tadeuskund. ** No ; the Le- 
nape will no longer brook the name. The vile garment 
imposed is torn. The wolf shall no longer wear the 
garb of the fleecy flock. Once more the Lenape are 
men, and will sharpen their tomahawks on the fidelity 
of the whites to slay the treacherous fiends. Bui the 
whites must cease to poison our warriors with the water 
that burns within itie. My knowledge is greater, and 
the bounding deer on tlie white peaks, breathes not a 
purer air thaa I breathe, when the poison flows to my 
brain ; but on the morrow my hand trembles,^ and the 
Lenape hate to tremble." • v 

** But why drinkest thou the vile liquor, which onr 
bad men bring among you, with an intention to «poil 
you of your goods ? " said Burton to the chief. 

" Would that I could drink rivers of the burning 
drink ; that I might keep my children's lips from the 
poison." 

A smile played involuntarily on the face of Living- 
ston ; while Conrad, who was but little jconversant with 
metaphorical language, turned to Elluwia, with a broad* 
er smile. 

" Miss Hailkiwire," said he, " your nople and kreat 
father is very chuditious in his wish ; for rum spoils sor- 
rily the complexion of young laties. In my humple 
chudgement, I would rather recommend peer or chin 
to your peautiful lips." 

" Even though the Spirit of Knowledge had not 
blown with thy breath wisdom to teach me th« virtue of 
the strong waters, methinks my lips would have con- 
tinued to choose the simple water of the streano,*' 
answered Elluwia. 



The mistake of the ingenuous Prussian sergeant, ex- 
cited a general laugh, in 'which Tadeuskund heartily 
joined. Exhilarated bjr the beverage, he seemed letis 
reserved, and disposed to converse ; wlfite Burton, who 
never lost sight of his darling theme, the oonciliatipn of 
the whites with the Indian tribes, strove to impress the 
most forcible arguments, to show the fallacy of Waa- 
comand's speech and his imposture. He intimated his 
.ai^tonishment at the audacity of the Mingoes, which 
prompted them to endeavour to hold the Lenape in a 
sort of subjection. The eyes of Tadeuskund, at the 
word subjection^ glared once ujore with passion, 

*' The black cloud is over," said the chief, "' therefore 
will I tell thee of the storm with a full heart. Long 
before the white race crossed the great lake, our 
fathers lived on the shore of a wider lake, where the 
*sun allays his fever at night. There did they long live 
in peace ; but they wished at last to tread a new 
soil, and they crossed the long hnc of mountains far 
from sight. Their numhers were like the anis in the 
faeaih. They drank of the waters of the endless 
stream ; and there, as they had passed its waves, they met 
with the Mingoes, who sought also for new plains, and 
trembled to count their nameless numbers. Both joined 
their hands in peace, and advanced in search, till they 
found this great lake, and lit their fir^&s apait. For a 
time the cunning Mingoes dared not lift the hatfchet of 
war against our fathers ; but at last, as they slew the 
Lenape in the shade, our fathers rung the forest with 
the whoop of war, and they fought, and forced the 
bleeding Mingoes to sue for peace. But the dark fiends 
drank of malice, and put the tomahawk in the hands of 
our fathers' brothers ; and wars were raised upon 
wars, till blood reddened the streams. Our faihersK 
might have crushed the last skull of the Mingoes ; but 
the dark arts of those ''conquered our fathers, by the 
strength of treacherous words. They called a great 
council-fire, where our fathers were told, that peaoe 



184 

could never end, if they would but be the women of 
the tribes ; (for our wives only can be the voice of 
peace amongst us). Our fathers, blinded, took tlie 
name, and bled for their blindness ; for the Mingoes to 
this day whitened our land with our bones. But now 
the lake of blood is full ; the hawks have drunk*tiU 
their flight is heavy ; and the bleeding eagle, roused 
from her sleep shall seize upon the stealing foe." 

Elluwia, who from some symptom, known to herself, 
perceived that her father's nerve:?, in consequence of a 
new draught, were about to lose their empire over his 
limbs, advanced submissively towards him ; and taking 
him gently by the hand, she pointed to a couch in an- 
other part of the room, where he might compose his 
frame and his mind ; and it was indeed a touching sight 
to see the fierce and almost gigantic hero rise from his 
seat, und tamely submit to the feeble hand, which led 
him to a place of rest. He laid his limbs down on the 
very spot assigned to him by the sweet Elluwia ; and 
in a moment the last king of the Lenape was wrapped 
in the slumbers of a child ; while his daughter sat close 
by his side, in silence, watching over the elevations of 
his breast, as he breathed, with a filial devotion, which 
no fond thought or external cause seemed able to 
disturb. 

Meanwhile, as Conrad, wearied with the passive 
toils of the day, had tried with succe>s to imitate the 
example given him by Tadeuskund ; Livingston left 
alone with his venerable friend, hastened to communi- 
cate to him his doubts and his hopes, and to inquire 
whether his conjectures were founded upon truth. He 
learnt from Burton, that Elluwia had in reality avowed 
to him her having every reason to suppose herself fiom 
the white race ; but that Tadeuskund himself could not 
ascertain her birth ; as she in a distant land became his 
adopted daughter, in times of disturbance, when the 
number of bleeding scalps, captives, and all the ruins 
of war, permitted not the conqueror to count his tro- 



185 

pbles or his loss. She had no recollection of former 
times ; aad Tadeuskund was the first being whom she 
bad learned to love and obej^. 

*•' It may sound strange lo thee," continued Burton, 
" that an old man, like me, bending down towards the 
dust from which I was made, should, at this time, take 
so* warm an interest in the life of a poor abandoned 
child of the wilderness. But when thou hearest my ' ' 
tale, thou shalt no longer wonder. I have long refrained 
from opening my heart to thee, for fear I should permit 
selfishness to regain its empire over me, and grieve thee 
with the evils of another ; but since I find in thee an 
earnest wish to know the story of the object that recalls 
my sorrow, I will speak my tale." 

" How could you think your affectionate son capable 
of such an indifference as to lack interest in your pre- 
sent, or even past misfortunes ? I have longed to hear 
them related ; for I w^s not a stranger to your sighs, . 
but refrained from prying into the secrets of your heart." } 

" Though my soul is wholly, given to the sect I em- 
braced, yet thou mayest have oftea wondered at my 
language, which never could be freed from worldly and 
impassioned ornaments, more properly styled defects, in 
truth. The cause of this thou knowest now, perchance, 
for my early life is known to have been far indeed from 
coinciding with the precepts of our friends. But the 
events that disturbed the peace of my life are known 
to few." 

" Hasten then to disclose to me the detail of your 
adventures, and fear not lest your friend should regret . 
its length." . 

"• It will be brief," said Burton, " though h contains a 
source of endless griefs to me." 

Burton, then, seemingly altering his language, began 
in a low voice, often interrupted with sighs and some 
4ears to relate the following story with an eloquence of 
feeling commonly not so fervid among the good and 
virtuous, but plain brothers of bis sect. 
16* 



186 



CHAPTER XI. 

How silver-sweet sound lovers* tongues by night. 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 

ROMEO AND JULIET. 

• 

" My father, born in Ireland, from a Roman Catholick 
family, had emigrated to America at an early age, and 
soon acquired a considerable fortune in Philadelphia, 
where I received my birth. Bereft of his wife soon 
after that event, he took upon himself the care and 
education of my infancy ; avoiding thus my imbibing 
the precepts of the Quakers, as we are styled ; the 
tenets of whose sect he thought a perversion of our 
common religion. Finding his leisure inadequate to 
accomplish my education alone, he resolved to part with 
me for a time, and sent me at the age of fifteen to a 
college at Douay, in the north of France, where Eng- 
lish youths are educated in the Catholick faith. There 
I finished my studies, and was initiated in the forms, 
ceremonies, and creed of the Roman Church, but never 
convinced of its infallibility. At the end of five years, 
the term fixed by my father for my return, I embarked 
for my native land, and ®nce more saw Philadelphia ; 
but not my good father. Two days only before my 
arrival he had fallen under the weight of care?, misfor- 
tunes, and age. For two years previous to my return, 
bis fortune, from various causes, had been gradually 
impaired and lastly ruined. His losses and his constant 
regrets for my moiher's early death, had preyed upon 
his mind, and overcome his health, so completely, that 
he died, as the tapers of our churches die, extinguished 
for want of substance to feed their light. My sorrow 
equalled and even surpassed the rapturous anticipations 
which I had long indulged of my joy, on embracing my 
only parent, and breathing my native air. I was left 
alone in the world destitute of all, even a friend 5 fbr 



187 

ixiy father had constantly shunned the society of the 
Quakers, and cuhivat^d but few acquaintances, who 
ceased to know him as soon as they perceived that 
it was no longer in his power to give. Unfixed in roy 
religious belief, and bereft of a parent, who alone could 
aid roy doubts and perplexity with his counsels, the im- 
pituosity of my age tempted me to accuse my destiny ; 
and while I looked upon the cold selfishness of men 
with the gall of unjust discontent, forgetting that I my- 
self was a man also, ■ I made misanthropy my guide 
through the forests* 1 roamed far from civilised life ; 
that, among savages I might study the heart of man, 
cherishing the hope, that in their manners uncorrupted 
by luxury and vices, I might trace virtues, that could root 
out from my breast the deep seated misanthropy which 
I internally abhorred, while enthralled by the incessant 
dictates of its wispering voice. But as I sought among 
untaught Indians for the romantick purity and golden- 
age virtues, which my young imagination had formed, 
I rather confirmed in my heart the disease which it 
naturally was inclined to resist ; for I found in those 
men the same characteristicks, which my deluded fancy 
persisted to style perversion ; wWle those very traits 
might have pointed to me the wisdom of the great Maker, 
who, having created man, in whom he was well pleased, 
implanted in him, with the essence of his soul, an in- 
stinct common with all beings, that might lead him to 
preserve and improve his own individual existence. 

'' It was not among savages that my mind was freed 
from the thick cloud of prejudices, which had veiled 
and thwarted my love for mankind. Benighted once, 
in one of my journeys to the East, I found shelter from 
a violent storm in the humble collage of an old widow 
of our race, who Hved alone with her daughter, the 
best, the purest of beings. They relieved oppressed 
nature in me, and the daughter did more ; for she con* 
vinced me that there copid be disinteredness, pure love 
of m«n, and unmixed virtue amongst us. The love for 



188 

my fellow creatures which she inspired in me, was bes- 
towed first upon her, with all t|}e intensity and fervour 
of one, who, till then, save in his filial tenderness, had 
felt no senti(neht towards man but pity, disappointment, 
or disgust. With all the ingenuousness of innocence and 
trust in men's faith, she believed the truth of my words 
of love, and accepted the offer of my heart and haffd. 
The mother rather inclined for a rich young neighbour 
then absent, who twice had proposed himself in vain ; 
but her love for her daughter, joined to reports of his 
ungovernable, resentful characteK prevailed upon her to 
sanction our union. We were soon joined by the bonds 
which once I esteemed a yoke that I should ever spurn 
to adopt. Still possessed of vigour, though no longer 
a young man ; my hands cleared the wilderness, and' 
tilled the soil which extended widely around ; and dur- 
ing five years which elapsed, four children were added 
to the blessings, that the kind hand of Provfdence 
showered upon me, in the arms of the best of wives. 
In the meanwhile, the rejected rival of my affection, 
who, on his return had refrained from visiting the sim- 
ple cottage of my new mother, and 'even shunned my 
sight, filled the neighbourhood with ill-famed actions of 
Tudeness, bordering upon ferocity, but left us apparently 
in peace. 

" Our happiness, however, was blasted by the most 
calamitpus event. Think not ill bf a tear ; it weakens 
not my courage or my trust in the Great Father above. 

"A deadly war broke out with the Indians, our neigh- 
bours, and filled our nearly deserted province with con- 
fusion and dread. One night, as I slept with our* 
youngest babe in my arms, I was called from my sleep 
by horrible yells, and »by volumes of flame and smoke, 
which burst through the very floor of the room. As I 
rushed forth to open a passage for my wife, and my 
dear little ones, I felt the floor trembling under my feet ; 
and ere I reached the window, that side of the frail 
cottage separating from the body of the house, fell far 



; 189 

distant from the blazing ruins, and buried me, senseless, 
ID ibe shade, with my Julia, whom I still held in my 
arms, 

'^It wa^ daylight w^ien I recovered my senses ; but 1 
found that 1 was only stimued by the fall. I looked around 
and all was still, save the rare crackling remains of my 
cottage, still curling a pale smoke over the ruins of all that 
was dear to me in this world. Oh ! may not thy endurance 
hii exposed to such a trial. 1 thouglit my heart would 
burst, when I .ceased to gaze, in mute agony, on the 
heap of ashes which covered those of my wife, and 
three of my babes. AH seemed to be wrested from 
me ; for it was in vain that 1 looked for my Julia — she 
was also taken from her father. I turned every beam 
that might have covered her Utile limbs from my sight j 
h<jt she was gone ; and I never coHld tr&ce the smallest 
mark of her e^^istence or her. destruction. Nor could 
I ever learn who were the monsters who thus annihilat- 
ed my happiness, my hopes, and their source. For 
although the wild . yells heard by mc round my burning 
cabin, indicated the presence of fiends, yet no other 
sign having been left of their crime, I had no greater * 
reason to attribute it to the Indians, whom I never of- 
fended, than to the few white neighbours known to me, 
who were all friendly to us. 

" The rest of my story can hardly interest thee. It 
will be enough to say that I returned to Philadelphia, 
where 1 embraced lie belief and joined the society of 
Friends. My dear, lovely wife and sweet babes, had 
taught me to love fellow beings ; and their death, 
though caused by men, closed not my heart to affection 
for men, but even crented there a want to fill their ab- 
sence, with love for all the rest of the world ; for they 
alone were a world to me. But although my search 
for my little Julia was vain, I never abandoned the hope 
of finding her. If she fell into the hands of Indians, I 
am assured she lives ; for never did I know them to 
murder infants in cold blood ; find 1 am convinced she 



190 

was still breathing when torn from my arms, for no 
trace of blood could be seen where I lay, when the use 
of my senses was retored. 

" A new cause, — a great one, — was lately given to 
me to hope for the recovery of my child/ A number 
of circumstances led me to suspect that Rogers, whose 
m) sterious cruehy you know, is acquainted wilh my 
misfortune, and knows perchance the desiiny of iny 
Julia. He surely uas one of those who whn^ssed, or . 
even caused the conflagration of my earthly wealth ; 
for he twice recalled to me, in a threatening tone^ 
*^ Mount Hope," the name given by us to the fatal 
scene of my happy days and of my despair. But a 
still greater proof was my discoverkig that he held in 
his possession, a trifling ornament, a Romish string of 
beads, which once, in my blindness, I considered a holy 
ornament, upon the neck of my child. From that 
moment, I kept constantly my eye tipon him, intending 
to tear the secret from his heart, if aught could avail 
on so obdurate a man as he seems, but refrained from 
inflmaiing my intention, while in those forests he had it 
in his power to escape from my scrutiny. But the 
* misfortune which deprived you of your liberty, bereft 
me alike of the power to obtain from him the clue of 
the mystery, which perhaps he alone in this world can 
resolve. 

" On seeing this very interesting Elluwia, I felt deep- 
ly anxious to know her history ; and often strove to 
obtain it from her own lips. She long avoided to 
speak, seemingly averse to call any other than Tadeus- 
kund father. 1 have told thee the result of my perse- 
vering inquiry, and ^m left in greater doubts than 
before ; for although it be certain from her account that 
she really descended from our race, I 41m convinced no 
farther explanation can be obtained from her adopted 
father." 

" Have you traced on her lovely features any re- 
semblance witli her mother f " said Livingston, who had 
listened with the most devoted attention*. 



191 

" No," said Burton. " In spite of my silly wish to 
find in her a likeness o{ one, who could have no like- 
ness, I confess I cannot see the slightest sinailarity." 

^* But what would you say, if 1 should tell you that 
there is, to my eyes, a resemblance in some of her 
features, with those of my revered father ? " 

" Such fancies," said Burton, '* even allowing^ them 
to be reality, are but trifles in my mind* Rogers alone 
can solve my doubts.". 

^^ 1 will search for him then ; and were he bid in the 
remotest part of the continent, I will, 1 shall, I must 
find the fiends" 

" Be not hasty, and do not expose thy life in vain, 
for me alone. It is far less dangerous for me to tra** 
yerse the Ijnds of the natives." 

To tliis, Livingston replied with such ardour, find 
found such arguments, as to convince bis friend that it 
would be vain to oppose the design which he had sud- 
denly formed of pursuing Rogers through the wilder- 
ness. In a word, it was resolved that even -on the 
morrow, Livingston should leave the valley for Phila- 
delphia, where he should employ his influence for 
peace ; and from thence depart in quest of Rogers, for 
a discovery, the importance of which his heart avowed 
to himself ; while timidity or shame wronged his in- 
genuousness, in refraining from avowing the cause to bis 
venerable friend and adviser. 

The night was come ; and all in the Indian village 
was now silent or asleep. Conrad was tasting tiie 
sweets of forgetfulness, and Burton prepared to seek 
in slumber, for a rest which his mind, in spite of its 
seeming placidity, could not enjoy when awake ; but 
Livingston could not sleep. He had remarked, during 
Burton's recital, that EUuwia left the rooin, as she 
thought, unperceived ; fc^ the eyes of a lover seem to 
possess ubiquity. His wish to speak to the object of 
bis warmest affections, permitted him not to consider 
Uie danger of thus exposing himself among the disaf- 



192 

fected Indians ; and he hastened out of the cabin in 
hopes that he noight trace her steps. JNothing was seen 
among the surrounding trees, save here and there the 
Aiint shadows of curling smoke on the snow, the last 
testimonies of human existence in the huts around. 
Livbgston ventured at random towards the banks of 
the Susquehanna, that rolled its waves in majesty, in 
sight of the erescent moon in the west. As he reached 
the precipitous rocks, which there tower over the 
stream, he recognised, not without a throb of his heart, 
Elluwia herself, who seemed occupied in collecting 
boughs from the evergreens, which deck those cliffs, 
perchance for the comfort of her royal father in his 
sleep. As she perceived Livingston, she abandonecf 
the bending branch held in her hand, and advanced to- 
wards him. 

** Friend of the brave," said she, " why thus chill 
my heart with fear for thy life ? The Lenape breathe 
not all friendship for the whites. Many a breast here 
" swells with revenge in bonds.*' 

**You cannot think such fear in TadeuskuncPs 
friend capable of balancing the pain caused by your 
absence." 

^^ Elluwia has not been wont to think her presence or 
absence could give pleasure or pain, till she saw the 
breath of her father found passage through a smile of 
his lips, at her return. But strangers breathe not 
smiles upon the ivy, that twines round the oak with 
silent clasp of fondness." 

•* Can you be unkind, and give the name of stranger 
to one who owes to you his life, his happiness, and the 
joy which he now receiver f " 

^^ Thy mouth has so often spoken words of remem* 
brance upon my simple deeds, that my vain eyes have- 
looked into the stream that doubles our forms; but 
there I only saW the image of Tadeuskund, when saved 
by thy band.'* 

^^ O happy, blest am I indeed, if the best of my ae- 



198 

tipDs has l^ft in yoyr miad a cause io iiiu0e at titnes 
upon me. Were it but a momeut, that moment would 
be for me au age of delight." 

/^ A mpiDem! Nqt so. Ohejn, and long do my 
thoughts feed upon the deed of the friend of the. 
brave." 

^' May i ask. (for the ingenuous daughter of the forest 
knows no disguise), if gratitude limits every thought 
inspired hy hiro^ who would rather be called the friend 
of EUuwia, than any other name on earth } " 

*' 1 hardly l(now whether thy words give true thought 
to roy mind. We, in our simple hearts, are taught to 
believe that good and evil never abide in the same 
heart ; just as the fouotain, through which we see the 
sleeping. pebbles, speaks no more through its bosom, as 
soon as the pool has dropped darkness in its bed. 
Surely then thou art my friend, for thou art good and 
brave." 

" Speak no more of the dangers I have run, since, 
while I confronted them, so bright a reward awaited rate 
here. No, there is no danger, no pain, no grief which 
your absence could not cause me to forget, nor is there 
any power, pleasure, or joy which is equal to your 
presence." 

. " Your sisters, I am told, withhold from their lips the 
thoughts that linger in their bospm$. So I fear my 
words may sound uncouth in thy ears, but as no voice 
is sweeter to the bird than the true note of its kind^ so 
I would speak the note of my heart. In thy absence 
my bosom ha? sighed^ and thy presence gladdens my 
life." 

^* Your angelical purity and truth are invaluable gems 
upon your mind, that no ornament ought to disgrace. 
The last word^s which fell fcom your lips are stored ia 
my breast, as a memento of the most happy, the most 
glorious moment of my life. Yes, 1 now exu]t in my 
existence, since I know that I have been able to excite 
interest ip s^ h^art so noble and perfect. Permit me to 



194 

declare, that whatever be your destiny or niine, ray 
thoughts, my actions, and my happiness are fixed and 
wholly dependent upon yours ; and if aught could be- 
reave me of my hopes, believe me, nothing on earth 
can erase from my heart the love which you have there 
inspired, but which you yourself never could wrest from 
my existence." 

As Livingston spoke these words, with extacy glim- 
mering over all his features, EUuwia, who, till then, had 
{)reserved on her countenance the expression of that 
ofty placidity, which characterised her noble face, 
gradually drooped her head towards the mossy sod at 
her feet ; then raising it more suddenly, she turned to 
the pale crescent of the sky, and a tear was seen to 
glitter, like a pearl in its pensive light. She spoke not 
for a time, while Livingston feared by a syllable to 
rouse her from the sublimity of h%r attitude. At last, 
without interrupting her gaze of that melancholy friend 
of sensitive souls, she spoke in a less firm and lower 
tone. 

*< Even so I had feared. The breezes that ruffled 
the lake of my happiness 'deceived me not, and spoke 
the breath of swelling gales. Oh ! friend of the brave," 
said she, half turning towards him, ^< is it then. true, that 
I loved thee f For thy lips have breathed the words, 
which my heart -had spoken unexplained. O ! would 
that our knowledge hud not sought the stream of 
grifef!" 

" How can you call it grief which is a theme of joy 
fSr the rest df my days ? " said Livingston, imprisoning 
the hand which, in her^ guileless simplicity, she surren- 
dered to his clasp. " If your heart corresponds with 
mine, nothing can mar our happiness." 

" Blind not thy eyeS ; we shall weep heavy tears, and 
wish for forgetfulness." 

" You alarm me by such words. Pray kill me at 
once, and tell me that your hand is engaged." 

*' My hand is mine, though ray sighs tell me the heart 
beats for thee." 



195 

^* Why then shed tears, and fill mjr soul with anxiety ? 
Do you think any obstacle could blast the hopes, with* 
out which I must cease to live ? " 

'^ Oh ! there arei>ounds between thy wish and mine 
that we can never pass. The will of men reaches the 
little stars beyond the sun, but his strength cannot follow 
the win. We must soon part, and part with grief; for 
our words have met for sorrow." 

**you would distract me, were I to adopt your 
grievous thoughts. What bounds, what unconquerable 
obstacles lay between us ? There are none for me. I 
entreat you, tell me those that you fear." . ,.« . 

"Thy blood, my birth, those hills and my father, are [ 
to a8,^s the great lake for the red warrior's skiff* The 
thought kills the will." 

*' If those be the only barriers that you dread, my 
charming Elluwia, cease to weep ; for 1 alone will re- 
move them. No blood, no high birth, no desert can f 
induce me to divest myself of the noble right I possess 
to choose the soil where my affection abides. As to 
him whom you call your father, his soul is as great as 
kind. He must wish to see his Elluwia happy." 

" He whom I call father," said Elluwia lifting her 
lofty brow, with admiration and love, blended with 
majesty on her face,— ^" He is my father, for be first 
called me thus." Then continuing with a lower voice, 
which Livingston thought, slightly oppressed by a sigh, 
" Tadeuskund is the king of the Lenape, who hate the 
whites." 

Perhaps Livingston, in the thoughtlessness of his pas- 
sion, might have intimated the possibility of her dis- 
covering still her real father ; but he refrained when 
recalled to his judgment, by her enthusiasm at the 
thought of Tadeuskund. 

" But your father," replied he, " is the noble friend 
of the whites. His great soul, and his strong arm will 
arrest the torrent of hatred still kept within bounds." 

^' It is vain to mock truth and our hopes with soundsi 



1§« 

of dreams. My foot shall press, oo land, but the laad 
of Tadeuskund's fathers* Thy country calls thy arm. 
We must part, and Oh ! let us both pray the light of 
sighs in the sky, never to shine on the thoughts of this 
night." 

^' No land can claim my arm, but the coimtry where 
Elluwia lives. Hear this solemn protestation of the 
most unchangeable resolution. I will rather dwell io 
these forests, and be one of your warriors than abandon 
forever the only support, the only bliss of my life, the 
privilege of breathing the air which you breathe, of 
seeing her^ without whom the world is darkness to my 
senses." 

** Friend of the brave,'' said Elluwia, lifting once 
more her neck, with a shade of pride on her brow 
where dignity dwelt, ** wouldst thou leave the land 
where thy fathers sleep, and receive the hatchet, from 
hands that long to dye it with the blood of thy 
brothers ? " Then softening her attitude and her voice, 
she continued, ^* Oh ! friend of Tadeuskund, EDuwia's 
heart cannot beat with warmer love than it beats now 
for thee ; but that heart would turn as cold as the peb- 
ble of the strand, and as hard, should thoughts of me 
make thee stray from thy fires, and be the scorn of thy 
mother, thy father, and the while warriors." 

Livingston long reniained motionless, appalled by the 
thought of having lowered himself in the esteem of her 
whom he adored. He feared to read rcproarh in the 
eyes of that superior being, who, m her simplicity, had 
obtained such an empire over him, that her words even 
when they spoke the painful duty which implied eternal 
separation, permitted him no plausible reply. He roused 
himself at last from his imniobility and said. 

** Believe me, Elhiwia, I shall incur no scorn ; and 
were I to leave my friends, my country, for you ; those 
friends would exult at the thought of my being worthy 
of your love ; but your objections must be ren)Oved, as 
soon as you are convinced that a friendly iotercqur&e 



197 

will soon be re-established between your tribes and our > 
nation. Be assured my words are prophetick, and will 
be fulfilled." 

" ] fear ihy love is allured by a dreatn, that I have 
long dreamt in vain. 1 fear, Oh ! my heart withers at 
the thought, that our brave red warriors shall bleed till ] 
the sun no longer will blu^ at the sight of their blood ! 
on our land, ^nd when the last warrior dies no hand / 
will cover his bones ; no lips will sing his deeds ; and ^ 
the very sighs of the wind shall cease to speak his 
name." 

'* Why thus look in the future for gloomy images, 
which the present does not announce ? Tadeuskund, 
your great father, shall live and die in peSce with the 
%vhites, who respect him." 

" Ah ! that is the very spring where my love drinks 
sorrow. Tadeuskund is mighty ; and his strength alone 
can quell the wave ; but prowling fiends lurk at night 
to thrust the poisonous arrow in his sleep. The dark 
IN^^oes, and nameless numbers in our tribe, lay snares 
in his path. Nay some cowardly whites are thirsty for 
his blood. My eyes have shed more tears than would 
fill his veins ; but tears cannot feed the beatings of his 
heart." 

" Compose yourself my good, my perfect EUuwia, 
and be certain that no man will dare to injure Ta* 
deuskund. In bis sleep his sight would cause the 
assassin to tremble, and the weapon to fall/rom his 
quaking hand. Now it is my intention to depart even 
tomorrow, and hasten to Philadelphia, where I shall 
strive with all the eflforts, which my ardour can suggest, 
to convince the government of Tadeuskund's peaceful 
intentions; and of the necessity of sending troops,* 
which may assist his designs and protect his life. By 
means of the influence of Burton, I have the best 
hopes of being crowned with success.. But ere I leave 
you, Elluwia, promise to your warmest friend, to one 
whose love is equal to the admiration claimed by your 
17* 



108 

Tirtues, promise me to accede to my prayers, wbea 
peace is restored, and grant to my ferveot affection, 
the right which you have given me to strive to deserve 
the possession of your hand." 

'' My heart is willing," said Elluwia, giving him her 
hand in her ignorance of that shade of affectation called 
modesty, when oft it Jbelies the avowed sensation of the 
heart. Then she continued, " I love thee ; and if my 
father's lips smile permission, I will listen to the words 
of the friend of the brave* But may this not be a 
dream ! Often have I gazed on sweet images in the 
embers of the fire ; but the blue flame rose and was 
lost in the air; and the rest, soon turned into dust, was 
scattered by *the wind. Now we must partj for the 
sun will soon bid the stars hide their twinkling faces. 
Shine on, light of sighs, on our thoughts. My heart, 
though it swells with doubts, is still willing to seek truth 
in the dream " 

She spoke these words in a faltering voice ; and a 
deep melancholy settling on her brow, seemed to belie 
the smile which hovered on her lips; as if she foresaw 
the truth implied in her doubts on her destiny. Then 
casting a glance on the tranquil scene around, as it 
were, to take her last leave of those places, she moved 
slowly towards the village, leading Livingston, who 
obeyed in silence, and followed her steps as a slave, 
who knows no other thought. 

As they reached the door of the cabin, Elluwia 
paused, and lurnnig on Livingston an eye, where a tear 
was seen adding a glistening charm to the beauty of her 
look. 

" Friend of Tadeuskund, friend of Elluwia, farewell. 
When the sun awakes, thou wilt turn from Wyoming, 
and I will hide my face. Be strong." 

Saying this, with a sob ill suppressed, she plunged in 
the obscurity of the cell, and was soon heard to close 
the door, which when opened had discovered Tadeus- 
kund in his slumber ; and now separated him from^the 



199 

assembled guests in the hut. LiviegstoD stood as if 
bound by a spelJ to the spot, where he last beheld the 
fairest and purest object, which his imagination in his 
brightest dreams could ever have formed* His heart, 
shrinking within its limits, seemed bereft of all in the 
wide world around, and unable to give him vigour to 
execute the purposes of his soul. 

When he at last laid himself down by the side of the 
good, simple German, he found there no slumber; and 
thus awaited the return of another day. As soon as 
the first glimmerings of the dawn appeared, he intimated 
to Conrad his intention instantly to depart ; and was 
pleased to mark a smile of approbation on the lips of 
Fritz, who, with the most devoted attachment to bis 
captain, seemed to long after the time when. his anxiety 
for his scalp might cease to alloy the delight of serving 
so kind a master. Meanwiiiie, Burton, whose care had 
anticipated the wants of hisyoimg friend, informed him 
that two trusty guides had been engaged, who would 
lead him to Easton in safety, while he continued the 
exertions which his duty required, to propagate peaceful 
dispositions among the Indian tribes. He also would 
inform Tadeuskund of the cause which induced Liv- 
ingston to depart so suddenly, namely, the urgent 
necessity of acquainting the government with the dan- 
ger, threatening in those parts, and of obtaining the 
raeasuies likely to avert the storm. As to Rogers, not a 
word was said on either side, that might recall thoughts, 
CD which the warmth of both was known, to each 
other. 

Long before the sun began to gild the summit of the 
ipountains in the east Livingston, Conrad, and their 
guides departed in silence from the valley. Our hero 
bad cast on all sides the penetrating looks of a depart- 
ing lover ; but he could not catch a glimpse of her 
whose thought was now the sole mover of his actions.^ 

They reached Easton on the second day of their 
* inarch ; and there, parting with their guides, Livingston, 
with Conrad,'proceeded to Philadelphia. 



306 

In that city, he, in harmony with Burton's friends, 
united his efforts to those of the advocates of peace. 
Hie spared no labour, no patience, in his constant repre- 
sentations in favour of the oppressed, injured tribe of 
the Lenape ; and published every where the virtues 
and the affection of the brave king Tadeuskund for the 
whites. But his hopes were often blasted by the torrent 
of prejudices, ignorance, and hatred, growing every 
day more formidubk. Oppressions and murders con- 
tinued to be committed with impunity on the unoffend- 
ing Indians, while those men who subsist on rapine and 
blood incessantly filled the towns with clamours that 
might excite the nation to continue the war. In the 
meanwhile, the savage warriors, unabl<e to obtain redress 
for injuries unknown, finding their voices too impotent 
to proclaim their wrongs, s(xught in retaliation for a relief 
or a compensation for their sufferings and the loss df 
their brothers. 

In a ward, weeks and months were spent by Living- 
ston in v^in toils to open the eyes of his deluded coun- 
trymen (for America was to him as the land of his 
birth), when at last he began to perceive that nothing 
could avert the evil which his guardian angel of the 
wilderness, in her just though simple views, had but too 
well foreseen. In the meanwhile, the Paxton-boys were 
threatening, not only the wretched Indians with des- 
truction, but even the government with a subversion of 
its laws. Livingston, judging that there was the most 
potent cause of di$cord and dangers, and fully convinc- 
ed of the inutility of his efforts, in the more peaceful 
town, resolved to depart from Philadelphia, and to seek 
' among those men for Rogers, who, he knew, must be 
there, while he might watch an opportunity to baffle 
their bloody designs. He therefore proceeded in his 
•journey with Conrad, who had become firmly attached 
to his person ; and who was even willing to expose once 
more his life to dangers, and his stomach to privations, 
rather than leave . him who so generously saved ,his life. 



201 

Tbe wioter was meltiDg before the vernal breezes ; 
and the frigidity of ice and, snow^was replaced, by the 
dampness of frequent rains, which, wiiile they dissolved 
tbe remaining bonds of frost in the soil, for the return 
of verdant life, had rendered the roads almost imprac^ 
ticable, on the way of our travellers. Many days were 
unavoidably spent in their arduous journey ; and when 
they reached the neighbourhood of Lancaster, where 
Livingston wished to observe the intentions and move- 
ments of the Paxton-boySy it was found necessary to 
wait still some weeks,. till the state of the roads should 
permit them to s^ssemble ; for at that season they seem- 
ed, if not to have permitted their animosity to subside, 
at least for awhile, to have agreed upon a temporary 
suspension of their clamours and hostilities. Previous 
to this period, they used to assemble in various, taverns 
in tbe country around ; and there, while drink inflamed 
their passions, they excited each other, by the most 
outrageous language* to continue the work of confusion, 
destruction, or plunder* Some were actuated by fanati- 
cism, others by revenge ; but most by a total want of 
moral sense. From these places they sent emissaries, ^ 
trumpeters of discord, throughout the province, and 
would often issue, in parties more or less numerous, as 
the occasion required, to perpetrate on the weak natives 
horrible murders, decreed by their senate of anarchy 
and blood. 

At last, May being returned, and the sun resuming 
his empire, the roads became drier ; and the rioters 
began once more to assemble, with renewed boldneisis, 
and panting for more bavock. Livingston then muffling 
his face in his cloak, and shading his head under a 
broad-brimmed hat, ,be^an to attend thos" tumultuous 
assemblies ; aad avoided st= dionsly thus being much 
observed and recognised by Roe;ers, whom be sought. 
He gradually became informed of their resolution, and 
began to design measures which might in some degree, 
thwart or avert their purposes ^ but in bis search of tbe 



202 

mysterious main of the wilderness he was long unsuc- 
cessful. • 

At last, hearing of a noted place of resort for these 
base conspirators, at the distance of several miles in the 
woods ; he rode there, accompanied this time by Con- 
rad, whose attendanee he had avoided in his quests, 
lest his round, smiling face, or his garrulous tongue, 
being recognised, might betray his own presence. Being 
arrived near the inn, a large, rude log-house, shaded 
by towering trees planted there by nature, he left bis 
horse to the care of Conrad, who, with all his propensity 
to love and haunt the place, where gin and beer could 
be found, seemed that day quite indifferent on that 
score, whether it was a shade of dread of those rufHans, 
and their clubs and hangers, or a sense of prudence for 
the interest of his captain, which influenced his indif- 
ference, we leave it for better judges of the human 
heart to discuss or decide. We only would observe 
that he permitted not Livingston to proceed, before he 
had terminated an eloquent disconrse on the urgency of 
i being upon his guard, '^ among ahentlemen who make 
nothing of cutting each others throats." 

Livingston paused awhile at the door to ascertain, if 
possible, the cause of the confused noise which he had 
heard long before reaching the inn. It was not of so 
alarming a nature, as he had reason to anticipate ; far 
the Boys were sineing, if thus tjould be called the 
rough, hoarse harmony of various voices, discordantly 
united to repeat the chorus of a ditty, composed no 
doubt for the occasion. Judging that the drinking stage 
was not yet over, he concluded that he might hear all 
the important transactions of the day ; and therefore 
entered the room, with great caution, lest the appear-- 
ance of ^a stranger, thus muffled in his cloak, might ex- 
cite suspicion. Then sliding slowly into a dark corner, 
he sat himself down in the attitude of a weary traveller, 
indifferent to the turmoil around. From his recess, he 
witnessed a scene, which we will attempt to describe* 



^03 

The room was occupied by thirty or forty men, 
whose appearance justified the suspicion attached to 
the Paxton-boys. Several, however, in their looks had 
Qot the cruelty, which their deeds evinced on so many 
occasions ; two or three even wore an exterior of re- 
ligious decency, which jarred strangely with the place, 
and the object of their raeeting. But all were armed 
with various weapons ; and the ferocity painted on the 
countenances of many was in better harmony with the 
conversatjion which followed their songs. One of those 
ruffians, holding a small cask, brought there full of 
whiskey, but now nearly empty, was distributing the 
liquojr around with careless profusion. As he poured the 
last drop into his own tumbler, the song stopped ; and a 
short interval of silence followed, during which he laid 
the cask on the floor, and stepping upon it, prepared 
the audience by an expressive gesture to listen to his 
ba[rangue« 

'* Well, my boys," said he, stammering through the 
exertion required to hold himself in an upright position 
.on his inebriating stool, ** we have won the day, and 

the d d cask is overcome, or come over, as Billy 

says. Now boys let 's proceed to the business of the 

day, while the liquor tickles yet your throats. D ^a 

the dizzy cask ! I say, boys, the day is come when 
we ought to spur the lazy dogs, and set out on our«^ 
chase. We have a deal of work on our hands ; and 
with the flap-jack hats we 'II have a tough work to clear 
the woods, unless we give them a kick,^ that upsets the 
whole set out of the way. The bottom of the matter 

is this. D :n thg bottom of the cask that bottoms 

me now," continued he as he rose from the ground, on 
which be had been prostrated, by a fall occasioned by 
the top of the cask giving way under him; 'and thus 
untimely interrupting his elaborate speech. " Come, 
hold your grinning jaws, and hear what I say. It 's 
as clear as cin, we can 't work freely without a bold 
stroke, that is to say, we can't keep the pigs as long as 



204 

we only bold them by the tail. Now, up our way, you 
must know, the boys are as hot as old nick himself, and 
swear they Ml boll down to Quaker-towo, as soon as a 
few score of fellows, as brisk as theiuselves, will leap 
the ditch. As to the long-knives below, they are up to 
ps, and will merrily join in the frolick. I say, bold boys 
af freedom, this day grins slick and fair upoit the brave. 
Let 's all make one, and clip the wings of the sly, 
sneeking, sniveling, snifling, snipping monks tHat preach 
die stuff that stuffs their bellies, and starves ^us, bold 
boys. I say, down to Quaker-town, and hurrah for the 
Paxton-boys." 



CHAPTER XIL 

Quelques criipes toujoan precedent Ie« grands crimes; 
Quiconque a pu franchir les bornes'legitimes, 
Peut violer enfin les droits les plus sac.es. 
Ainsi que la vertu, le crime a ses degres, 
£t jamais ou n*a vu la tiknide innocence 
Passer subitement a reztreme licence. 

RACiirs. 

The room rung with repeated shouts of applause and 
exuhation, and for a time nothing could be distinctly 
.Jieard, save the words, Indian dogs, sculps, Quakers, 
and Paxton-boys. The tumult of curses, laughter, 
clapping of hands, and trampling of feet, was even in- 
creased by the effigy of a Quaker, produced by two 
young men, who had prepared it for the purpose of 
liurning it after having exposed it^o the scoffs and de- 
rision of the raving rabble. When the Boys had nearly 
vented their mockeries and their. oaths, another fierce 
looking forester, ali his pores filled with the stimulating 
whiskey, strove to attract the attention of the assembly 
by bis discourse on the reigning theme. Having seated 
himself on a bench, placed by chance upon a high 



205 

table, nearly in the centre of the room ; (for he could 
hardly stand), he began a speech, often interrupted by 
some reviving shout or sqofis directed to himself ; and 
at last having obtained attention for awhile, he continued 
thus — 

" Brothers, conopanions, and friends of the merry 

club. Go ^ hell, if you won 't hear me/ Or, d n 

you ! come and hear me, if you won't go. That 's 
plain. Now you must know, it 's for the salvation of 
your soul and-eugh-body, that I pour upon you the 
dew of my-eugh-wisdom, which is, you are a set of fools r 
if you don 't despatch the last of the red dogs. Hand ^. 
me the bowl, Jack. . The dogs won't be christians like 

us. You son of a ; it 's empty. Fetch me the .' 

mug 5 and mind ye well, they had better be sent to per- 
dition sooner than later, as they stand in our-eugh-way ; 
which is doing them a kind office after all ; for the 
hounds will dodge eternal punishment, such as they ; 
would incur, you know, by scalping themselves such 
christians as we are.** 

" Harper, you drunkard," said one of the composed- 
faced^sectarians, " shame upon you to ridicule, and jest 
upon sacred things. By such language, you will bring 
disrepute upon our gqod cause. The written word tells 
us our duty, and we ought to accomplish in solemn 
silence, but not with revilings and deridings of our pure, 
. holy, and just intentions, the destruction, of a race, cursed 
by divine judgment, nearly* accomplished already by the 
hands of believers. The example given us by thousands 
in bolineas, is. so evident a sign of the will from 8jb6ve, 
that we have but to bow humbly in acquiescence^ and 
devoutly strike." . 

" 1 bow in humble acqui-eugh-essence,". replied ' 
Harper^ ** and will devoutly strike." 

As he endeavoured, with his fist, to reach the imper- 
tinent intruder upon the musings of his vein, he missed 
the blow, and falling headlong from bis elevated seat, 
18 



206 

gave another theme of laughter to the jolfy, though 
bloody assembly. 

•* I say, extirpate them from our land,** cried the finit 
speaker of the cask, *' clear our grounds, and tip the 
Quakers into the Delaware ; but first twist their necks, 
for they will float like bladders. And I ;^n't much 
quarrel with a body for his principle, or pnnce tipple* 
I say, they *11 run like frogs to the mire ; and a dozen or 
two t)f our boys will scare the whole pack of them, tiD 
they grow as thin as Jack's mare. I say, hurraa for the 
Paxton-boys.'* 

Another shbut, Iduder than the last, once more filled 
the room, and brought on a confusion of discordant 
sounds, which nothing for a time seemed likely to re- 
duce to distinct conversation. At last, a man, tHl then 
seated in an obscure and remote part of the room, rose 
from hrs low seat ; and as he advanced in the lights 
discovered to Livingston the ill-omened features of 
- Rogers himself. His influence, and the respect paid to 
him by the villains, seemed unlinjited ; for hardly had 
he squirted the tobacco juice from his quivering^ lips, 
with a significant squint, than all were silently mtent 
upon his mcuiar speech. 

'^ D' ye think much work will be done in this way ? 
Whjle you drink yourselves drunk with whiskey and 
•with bragging ; fear ye no spies about you f " These 
last words he uttered with a sinister look, which Livbg- 
ston thought directed upon himself ; then he continued, 
*' No, ye crack-brained fools. If you would strike 
surely, sing not, drink not, but keep half the whiskey 
till after you have done the deed, and t' other half to lay 
the red dogs asleep ; or all if you list. Now, I '1! say 
this, you met here about a certain job, that has n*t even 
entered your drunken noddles since the whiskey passed 
round. The first trip some of us must take then, is up 
the narrow-bedded stream ; you all know what I mean. 
As long as the heathen dog sticks to the Quakers, we 
can't get his fellows to stir. You know that as well as 



207 

I do. 1 move then that these three religious gentlemeu^ 
and Jack, Billy, and Harper, when sober, should meet 
me QD horse,* at the fork of the Whistle Creek, where 
they shall hear more, and then move on* No time 
should he lost. Chaw your quids in the wind, and he 
mum, if you can ; and let me advise you to dispense 
wiih morel)urraas for the Paxton-boys." 

Here be stopped ; hut in spite of his warnrng, the 
troop could not refrain from another shout, less loud,, 
however,- and shorter than the last. Meanwhile, Liv- 
ingston, hearing the name of Tadeuskund repeatedly 
hummed through the room, could entertain no doubt of 
theiir evil intentions towards the king of the Lenape. . 
Id his situation, and at so unsettled a period, it would 
have been madness to attempt to claim the assistance 
of justice, or to seek force, to seize upon Rogers, in 
places where impunity shielded him from the laws of 
the country, aiui strength encouraged his villainy. Jt 
occurred instantly to his mind, that the only means to 
.$ave the protector of his £lluwia, was to hasten to 
Wyoming, and inform him of the danger which threat- 
ened his life. He therefore rose from his seat, striving 
not to excite in the least the notice of the assembly. 

But Rogers's hawk's eye had not deceived him in bis 
ppprehension ; his presence had been observed, and the 
vigilance of the son of the. wilderness came near prov- 
ing fatal to his designs and his life. 

"Stop, sir," said Rogers, "we have a word to say 
.t'ye. Spies amongst us must pay a toll, you must 
.know; and captain Livingston of the red-coat must 
ishew his face before we let him pass." 

The first sound of his voice told Livingston that be 
was discovered 5 and he saw at once certain ruin before 
him, if instant flight were precluded by the activity of 
his enemy. While these thoughts flashed through his 
mind, he observed that a window before him, left open 
for the admission of vernal air, was so near and so low, 
that one leap might extricate him from tbe immediate 



208 

grasp of the ruffians around. The act was nearly as 
instantaneous as the resolution ; and ere Rogers had 
uttered the last words of his denunciation, Livingston 
bounded forth, travelled the space in a second, and 
fbund himself at once on the renewing sod which enam- 
elled the ground round the solitary dwelling. His hopes 
were greatly cheered, as he saw, a few steps before 
bim, his faithful Conrad, who, with alarm expressed in 
his countenance, was slowly riding towards the house, 
and leading the other horse with him, as if he had an- 
ticipated (he present emergency. Livingston rushed to 
bis steed, leaped on the saddle, and in a moment had 
turned towards the forest. But the peril was not yet 
over; for half a dozen of the Boys, less inebriated than 
the rest, had followed Livingston through the same 
aperture, and while the rest were rushing out through 
the door, one of the band had already reached his 
horse, whose bridle he endeavoured to disentangle from 
a hook, which fortunately for Livingston, proved suffi- 
ciently strong to resist the efforts of the ruffian's hand. 
In his haste, instead of loosening the reins, he twisted 
them into an intricate knot. That circumstance alone, 
perhaps, saved our hero and his squire ; for ^s Conrad 
■saw the perplexity of the alert Paxton-boy, he was em- 
boldened, by a sudden flash of presence of mind not 
very frequent with him, to do an action, which, though 
executed so as to produce an effect far remote from his 
intention, actually answered all the purpose of a deeply 
premeditated design. Spurring his horse, he confront- 
ed the fellow ; and discovering a horse pistol^ which, till 
then, was concealed in the vast recesses of his breech- 
es, he aimed at the man, crying to him with a terrific, 
or rather terrified voice, " Sacrement der tiffle I You — 
,Du hist — lie kreat rascal, you tief," — then fired. Biit 
whether the agitation of his soul, fully expressed in his 
protruding eyes, or thfe prancing of bis horSe, accus- 
tomed to milder tones of voice, caused the shot to err, 
we cannot ascertain. Be this as i( may, the bail did 



5 . ♦ 209 . . ^ . 

not kill the iDan ; but by a straoge (hwcTtion frctm its 
course glai^ced over the skin of the horse^s haunch, and 
limited its havock to mangling the taU of the animal, 
whose mettle could not brook such a degradation with- 
out violent symptoms of rebellion. • In the -meanwhile, 
the other steeds, fastened to the same mangQi:, which by 
the by was the supporter of the roof of a pig-pen, 
alarmed by the sound, ^d thrpwn into conJTusion by the 
wounded horse, began to give such a commotion to the 
frail building, that presently the whole gave way, and 
fell with a crashing noise amoag their prancing legs. 
TheiFevery thing about ihe hoqs^ was disorder, confu- 
sigUi and din. The horses breaking ftoni their bands 
bounded into the woQds; or aipon^ the drunken Boys, 
who, for several, houjTSv were unable to recover a single 
steed to pursue the,£ugitives. . .Leaving the scene of his 
valour, Cjonrad joined Livingi^ton, « who, destitute of 
arms, yet unwilling to recede, had been con.demned to 
be an inert spectator of the action. 

They gave the .spur to their horses, and made full 
speed for several miles. Both .were silent for a time 
from diffefent causes. The one overcome by the 
weightx)f bis glory, was unwilling-to show by the tremu- 
lous tone pf bis. voice, that a^ shade of fear had mingled 
\^ith his .heroick feelings, at)d thu,s ajloyed the chival- 
rous colour of his deed ; the other pensive and care- 
worn, revolved' in his mind varieus thoughts on the 
execution of his design, while ^the obstacles which 
thwarted his love filled his heart with a bitterness which 
even the thrilling hope of soon beholding once more his 
Elluwia could hardly alleviate. 

He doubted even for awhile the necessity of repair* 
ing to Wyoming, rather than follow Rogers in bis expe- 
dition, and tearing, if possible, the secret of his own 
happiness from the bosom of the wretch ; but he soon 
returned to his first design, when he thought of ti)e 
peril to which Elluwia herself would be exposed, if 
Rogers should elude his search, and precede him to 
18* 



2iq -^ 

Wyoming. He knew too w«ll bis perseverance in guilt, 
to suppose that his pfoject could be altered by the con- 
sciousness of Tts being known to his former captain. 
Besides,. Rogers, could hardly be privy to the secret 
cause which prompted Livingston to protect Tadeus- 
kund. Our hero therefore resolved to proceed without 
the least deviation, towards the valley where he might 
meet with all that gav& spring and life to his existence* 

When th^ travellers arrived at a place, where the 
Toad branched out in two opposite directions, one 
leading to Lancaster; the other towards the Susqaeban- 
na above ; Livingstoa stopped his horse and calffiid to 
Conrad, who' was already on the road that 'led to tbe 
good town, where gin, and beer, and quiet folks were 
in abundanbe. 

"My good Conrad," said Livingi^ton, ^^before I afflict 
your heart with unweicbme tidingisi,. I must thank yoa 
heartily for the kind office which you have just done 
me, and for many other proofs of your attachment, 
which I cannot ever forget. You ^i)l find in my chest, 
which I leave to your care, a purse, which you will not 
refuse, I trust, as a slight present from a friend^ rather 
than as a recompense for yoor services. JVfy road lies 
no longer that way.. I have resolved to proceed in 
another direction, where gangers of all kinds will be 
met, to which I am averse to expose your Iffe, already 
too often and too long attached to one who looks upon 
perils and bodily suff^ings as the least of evils incident 
upon him at this hour. Farewell, Conrad ; hasten to. 
a safer pkde, and keep up your spirits." 

Those words he uttered in a voice, which too plainly 
betrayed his feelings, even to the slender penetration of 
Conrad ; and having stretched forth his band to the 
German, who, motionless, seemed not to understand 
his words or the object of his action, he* prepared si- 
lently to depart, when Conrad broke the unwonted 
taciturnity, which he had so long observed* 

♦' Tit ray ears serfe me truly, my chenerous capUin ?- 



• 211 

Or am I teceived by a visbioa ? A^tjrou in earnest when 
you propose to discharcb your fery burable serfant, in 
the woots, wben bis intifTerent services may yet pe of 
some use f Conrad's beart at tbe pattle of Cfrague was 
not faint, for his kreat swort, that I hafe no more, steh-* 
len by tbe tiefs, bis kreat sworl was kifted to bim on tbe 
fieh^ where bis macbesty the kreat Frederick, comman- 
ed sheneral Steinb— " 

• ^^ I am indeed in earnest, when I wish you to leave 
me here. Not, however, that I have the slightest cause 
to doubt your willingness to accompany me, wherever I 
go. But, I repeat it, I am averse to ibe thought of 
your confronting other dangers for my sake.* Farewell, 
good Conrad," 

. ^ Stop, stop, my fery prudent commanter, and hear 
your opedieut doipestick, Fritz Oonrad, who crafes 
pardon for tbe liperty, — Wilf you contesend to inform 
me of tbe name of that place, where a faithful serfant 
is not permitted to follow his. lort and master f Excuse 
me, if you please, for my poldness." 

^^ There is no place on earth from whicb I could 
have the heart to exclude you, my good friend ; but 
rather refrained from indulging in the fondness that I 
feel for you, so far as not to draw you into unnecessary 
dangers. Be assured that no reason injurious to your 
jfeelings prompts me to part from you." 

^^ But once more, my kreat captain, can I not appre- 
hent the name of that place where Conrad cannot go 
•with your worshipful person ? " 

Livingston, with all his tenderness for Fritz, wfts not 
blinded -by bis affection, so far as to forget bis inclina- 
tion to garrulity ; and therefore had avoided mentioning 
tbe object^ of bis journey, lest tbe guileless German 
should chance, involuntarily, to inform the enemies of 
Tadeuskund of his design and of bis departure. He 
could not withstand, however, tbe satisfaction of tbufi 
showing bim bis confidence, and therefore answered, 

*^ Since you require it of me, I will not conceal from 
you that •! am about to return to Wyommg." 



212 

Conrad was not ^epared for that blow. His ruddjr 
cheek turned pale ; and bis hand naturally was turned 
to bis little hat, which seemed, from some cause, stai^ted 
from, its usual situation. His jaws were removed from 
each other as far as the largest slice of ham ever caus- 
ed them to salute an entrance there, without, however, 
occasioning a considerable opeping of his mouth, for 
his Jips puckered into a whistling posture ; whilst his 
cheeks, drawn down by the effort, ceased to serve as ram- 
parts to bis eyes, and thus discovered their actual mag* 
nitude. For a lime, no words gave vent to the concat- 
enated workings of his mind. His hand repeatedly 
travelled from the hair round his ears to tbe gasirick 

' region, with a certain elevation of his thorax at intervals. 
At last his nobler feelings prevailed ; and at once be 
recovered, with the natural radiancy pf his countenance, 
a copious flow of words. 
' " Well done ! Is that all, my ficbilant comrate, my 

^ illustrious captain, I mean f What do you suppose I 
care about a lechion of the plack tiefs. I would not 
kife a snap for a coward that would tremple pefore a 

i set. of salvages. No, not a snap. Why, I could cut 

. the ears of a thousand of ibem with my kreat swort, 
thafwas kifted me for my uncommon prafery, if I had 
It. Why, if you pelieve me V\\ go and pull the nose of 
the plack rascal, tbat stole my plankets ; sacrament dpr 
tifle ! I 'II ring it till he gives me pack my koats and 
our mare. Me ! fear such parparians ? No more thaa 
Cossacks and Calmucks, like those we cut to pieces at 
Zorndoff ? No, my chuditious captain ; you lid not, you 
could not think Fritz Conrad would m\jai a fig apout the 
.whole pact of them.'' '' ^ 

" I was far from intimating such a thought^ and be- 
lieve your courage equal to your good heart, when led 
by the benevolence of your feelings. But we cannot 
safely stand here a moment more ; we must part. Once 
more, farewell." 

" No, no. 1 shall go wherefer my* fenerable captaiA 



213 

goes, when he'has no petter opjectioa to my following 
his trace, than a fear for ray humple tespicable self." 

" Well, then I accept the continuance of your good 
services ; and let us instantly ride on, and with speed." 

Saying this, Livingston spurred his horse ; and they 
at once proceeded to m.ake up for the loss of time, by 
urging the swiftness of their' steeds. Meanwhile, Con- 
rad, once in a vein to relate the deeds of his transatlan- 
tick prowess, strove thus, in truth with little effort to 
himself, to beguile the solitary toil of therr rida; while 
Livingston, permitting his companion to indulge in the 
thought, that his discourse gave rapture to his attentive 
imagination, was plunged in reflections on the past, 
and anticipations of the future. They rode thus till 
Digbt, when they stopped near the banks of the Susque- 
hanna, at a smoky log-house,' under the roof of which, 
to the delight of Fritz, they found food, and a straw 
couch to rest their limbs. 

There Livingston found a party of raftsmen, who 
had taken the same dwelling for their abode that night. 
They were taking down rafts, which at that season are 
seen floating on the Susquehanna in vast numbers . and 
sizes. Thus supplying with timber the towns ncar^the 
bay, from the wilder and more distant regions above. 
From one of those meii Livingston received informa- 
tion which was highly important to him in the- present 
circumstance. Those men, who had .collected their 
timber alittfe above the valley of Wyoming, had laiKJed 
there for ^ night, and were infonraed of the arrival, or 
rather of a return of the settlers from Connecticut. 
Those new inhabitants, claiming the possession of lands 
in the valley, were making a * third effort to found a 
town, at a distance from their native land. They came 
in greater numbers, with cattle, implements of tillage, 
arms, and provisions ; and many were already employed 
in erecting their dwellings, whilst ihB rest were hasten- 
ing to clear the grounds, upon which depended their 
future subsistence. Meanwhile, they strove, with pre- 



314 

sents and peacerul, friendly language to' gain the confi- 
dence and friendship of the Lenape ; but although 
Tadeuskund, and many of his tribe, had giren their 
sanction to the treaty of union, yet the greater oumb^, 
by far, entertained growing, though jstill restrained sen- 
ftiments of jealousy and hatred. Their suspicion and 
|; malice were excited by the secret efforts of the Mingoes, 
•who constantly hovered round the dominions of the 
noble chief, and threatened to murder him, if he did not 
at last declare himiself for war. Even some of his tribe, 
in their rage, had vented threats, which seemed to bode 
a fatal end to the l-fe of the last, and cmce belored 
king of the Lenape. The presence of Barton there 
was mentioned as a powerful obstacle to the wishes erf* 
the Mingoes ; for he persevered in his endeavours to 
maintain union, by means of his eloquence, and the still 
existing love and respect of the Indians for him and his 
sect. 

Livingston had beard enough to prompt him to hasten 
bis journey. But the prospect before him was gloomy 
and despairing. He could not master the sounds of his 
voice sufficiently to permit him to inquire after Elluwia. 
The dreams of peace and of the felicity r^ulting from 
, it, had fled from his imagination, leaving despondency 
in his heart without a hope that might check his despair ; 
as a rock, which, about to bide its head in the rising 
tide, is still a source of courage to the drowning sailor 
in the main. But he proceeded on with outward firm- 
ness, as the tree contitiuesto lift its arms to the heavens 
above, whilst its roots are already severed from the 
trunk by the axe. 

Early on the next morn b& resumed his journey with 
Conrad, who would have gladly enjoyed the sweets of 
longer repose. Wishing to avoid the common traefc, 
he did not take the road which follows the banks of th^ 
Susquehanna, but preferred various paths an the woods, 
made known to him by the inhabitant of the lonely 
cabin, where he had slept« Thus he proceeded many 



215 

miles over bills, rocks, and mountain straams. But he 
soon became convinced that their horses had become 
rather an obstacle than an assistance to their progress. 
He resolved thefore to turn towards the river, whilst he 
continued indirectly his vmy to Wyoming, that he might 
reach before night some habitation, where he could 
leave his horses, and obtain provisions for the morrow. 
Their progress was slow on account of the many im- 
pediments, constantly renewed in their way; and the 
sun had reached the summit of the western biUs before 
tbey could perceive the signs of their approach to the 
Susqudianoi. At last, the aightof the distant stream 
cbeered their hopes of soon meeting with dwellings on 
Jibe road ; and ere they had long proceeded on the 
beaten track, they actually discovered a little inn, where 
Livingston met with. the object for which he had some- 
what deviated from bis course. There he also provided 
arms for himself and Conrad, who was truly rejoiced 
at the sight of a musket ; for in spite of his undisputed 
bravery, it must be owned that he now and then gave 
some symptoms of apprehension of the '^ plack-faced 
aalfages." 

We will not attempt to give an account of their pro- 
gress on the next day, for they traversed in silence, 
(wbich, by the by, Conrad was now religiously careful 
to observe) vast forests and glades, the monotony of 
which was seldom intersected with scenery that could 
interest the reader. Let it be sufficient to say, that 
tbey at night found no other shelter than the boughs 
of a thick spruce-tree, which in reality afforded them 
a comfortable resting-place, for the air was remarka- 
bly mild and serene. 

When dawn appeared, the indefatigable Livingston 
awoke his companion, and once more began to make 
fafs way through the forest. Had he been disposed as 
ibraierly to gaze and muse on the beauties of nature he 
bad a glorious theme for delight around him. The 
breath of spring bad begun to animate nature with new 



216 

life ; and the eartb, dressed with ver4ant i^bes, was 
smiling at the return of the sun, whose rays iaiparted 
that gentle warmth, which is so well calculated lo 
expand hearts, as well as flowers, when man plunges 
into the contemplation of the lovely and majestick 
works of the great hand above. All the trees, save the 
oak, were once more covered with young, tender 
leaves, that seemed to unfold themselves with a^ con- 
scicus delight of life ; some were seen, adorned with 
buds, topped with a mucous tear, that sparkled in the 
sun ; whilst others, as the wild vine, had already spread 
their odoriferous blossoms, over which the petulant 
humming-bird, was fluttering his invisible wings. A 
thousand other birds were displaying their coloured 
garniture among the boughs, and filled the fragrant air 
with their dulcet notes. 

Such scenes and such sounds, far from filling Living- 
ston's soul with ecstacy, seemed to swell his heart with 
an increase of sorrow and gloom. His thoughts were 
all bent upon one object, and that object, although he 
was about to enjoy its presence, was, as it were, forever 
torn from him. Poets tell us of sympathy and presen- 
timents that speak future joys or pains. Whether or not 
our hero had faith in such a lore, his mind was now 
struck with a painful persuasion, tliat blight and grief 
awaited his ill-fated love ; and he passed those beauties, 
of nature widiout permitting a sign of gazing delight to 
bail the charms of another season. , 

On leaving the sweet grove and the rill which mois- 
tened the.lov/er soil, through which the. travellers ha^ 
just passed, they saw extending before them a -glade, 
which was terminated by a scene of a different aspect. 
It was a pine forest on the slope of a hill, the vegeta- 
tion of which had been consumed by one of those coar 
flagrations that often spread afar their ravages through 
the forests of America. The ground, stripped of every 
living bough, was covered with glooipy wrecks of coaU 
and half burnt trees. Here and there a solitary stump 



21t 

stood on the tield of desolation, still a mark of past 
existence there, though robbed of life ; as the brittle 
bone, which, peeping above the ashes of a funeral pile, 
recalled to the weeping Ronian the memory of the ex- 
istence and glory of the heroes that thronged on the 
fatal field. Pale ashes covered the parched sod, where 
once the cat-bird and woodpecker were wont to find 
shelter and fresh repose in the shade. No animated 
being was seen in the vast sable field ; and no voice was 
heard, save the rare and shrill note of the plaintive 
oriole, that loves io hide in the withered bushes on the 
barren rocks, where the hated songs of other birds may 
not disturb its melancholy strains. 

The report of a musket or rifie, fired at a distance 
before them, suddenly roused the silent travellers. 
Livingston quickened his step ; but Conrad stopped, and 
strove with expressive gestures, accompanied with all 
the faces which he could invent to recommend prudence 
and caution. All- was in vain however, for Livingston, 
determined to ascertain the cause of alarm, hardly. no- 
ticed the silent gesticulation of prudent Fritz, &nd con- 
tinued to advance. Then Conrad, averse perchanco to 
solitude at that hour, suddenly altered his deportment ; 
and striding forth with all the velocity permitted to his 
long boots to assume, he, with no inconsiderable exer- 
tion, rejoined his " prave captain." They thus continued 
among high rocks, which more and more intersected the 
ground ; but when, arrived at the place from whence 
the sound had seemed to depart, nothing, was heard, 
nothing was seen that could indicate the presence of 
friend or foe, Conrad begun to breathe with greater 
ease, and Livingston to aitribtite th^ report of the gim 
to some hunter, who, having fired at a piece of game, 
bad pursued it in some other direction. His conclusions 
proved erroneous however ; for having proceeded, per- 
haps a quarter of a mile more, his ear on a sudden was 
struck with a low sound like a groan, proceeding from 
the foot of a ledge of rocks on his left, where a few 
19 



218 

singed laurels had escnped a total conflagration. He 
rushed to the spot and beheld a spectacle wordiy of the 
gloonoy scene around hiin. A tnan weltering in blood, 
was seen sitting on the ground, bis bead reclined over 
his breast, and striving apparently to rise but in vain. 
Livingston's approach seemed at first not to be noticed 
by the man, who appeared to endure excruciating pain ; 
but presently a shooting pang caused him to throw back 
bis head in the agony of his suffering ; and thus dis- 
covered to Livingston the features of Rogers. His 
eyes had caught sight of our hero, it seemed ; for after 
awhile he moved his head in a more erect position ; 
and in the distoilion of his vision, something could be 
discerned, which spoke his consciousness of some person 
whom he knew being there ; but he spoke not, whilst 
the involuntary motion of his lips gave to his ghasfly 
countenance an expression, which Livingston, had he 
not known that peculiarity, might have taken for the 
effect of vain struggles to express his thoughts. The 
lover of Elluwia at last found strength to address faim, 
and inquired the cause of his present situation. 

" Curses on the dogs that brought me to this passi'* 
answered Rogers, " and on the cowards that fled. I 
am undone, and hell is within me." 

" Where is your wound ? and who inflicted it ? " said 
Livingston. 

" The wound ? Where ! Ah, the villains have learned 
to aim their shot to the sure place. I have not an hour 
to live. Perdition catch the race." 

" Perhaps you deceive yourself ; but if not so, em*- 
ploy your last moments to repair your crimes, as far as 
you can. Tell me — " 

" Give me water, a draught of water to qaench — 
hear me, man ; say, give me some water. It burns 
within. Ah ! what say ? No water ? then be cursed 
like the rest, for I fear not ; I care not for the whole 
world.— Dogs ! find water in your bones. I '11 suck the 
marrow, rather than be racked as I am." 



219 

^' Speak now, Rogers, while you still can make a 
oetter use of your tongue. Confess your villany, now 
that the confession can yet retrieve some of your crimi- 
nal deeds, before you are summoned to account for tlie 
rest." 

. " Criminal deeds ! My account was long since set- 
tled. You are captain Livingston, an't you ? " 

"Jam." 

''Well then, I am Rogers of the wilderness; that* 
name speaks my want of fear. You fat Dutchman, run 
down the hill, and fetch me your boot full of water ; 
then I '11 say you wasn 't born for nothing. Blast the 
heathen does. Oh 't is here, 't is here ; I feel the? /blood 
gushing within. I hate you, I despise you, it is all I '11 
say for a drink.** 

■" Tune is pressing. I must entreat one thing from 
your obduracy. Tell me Burton's tale, before all dies 
with you. I know you can tell me whether his daughter 
lives. Is there a boon I can grant to make you 
speak ? " 

" That is your errand then, aye f Well then, barken 
to this. I see grinning death before me, his teeth have 
hold of my throat, and will soon choke my words ; and 
yet I would as lieve have the grim fiend hold me thus*"? 
lialf alive till the worms snatch it from his claws, than ' 
tell you what I know. I 'd lose the last chance I '11 have 
of stinging the old beast while I live. Fetch me •a 
drink, as a boon, and be cursed for it." 

" Hatve you no fear of the hand above ? Think on it ; 
perhapis in less than an hour your life shall be judged 
before the high tribunal, where the boldest trembles." 

*' Aye, aye ; is it then so ? Well then, I '11 not bear 
with me there the shame of flinching at the last. Think 
ye that Rogers would let fear snatch from him a toll at 
the gate .'* I've had such thoughts once, but the toll 
would be higher than ten lives could earn. 1 was born 
so, I lived so. I '11 die so." 

** If you believe in a future retribution, you must also 



220 • 

believe that the Hj^h One is as good as just, and majr 
pardon worlds of crimes. I entreat you, I beg you to 
open to me your heart.*' 

'' Ask me no more ; I choke ; it swells. Oh ! for a 
drink, a drink; and then — Stop, stop 5 it will over- 
flow." 

Rogers's voice then was made quite indistinct, and 
nothing but sounds void of sense met the ear of 
Livingston for a time. The blood rushing in the 
mouth of the wretch seemed about to clog the avenues 
of his respiration, and thus put an end shortly to his 
life. But a convulsive motion of his arms and neck 
threw him on his face ; and he was thus freed of the 
accumulated fluid, which threatened' hira with instant 
suffocation. Livingston then perceived that a ball, 
probably from a rifle, had passed through his body, 
breaking the spine and in consequence bereaving bis 
lower extremities of sensibility and power to move. 
Our hero, perceiving that this posture had permitted 
Rogers once more to breathe with some ease, hoped 
still to obtain from him the information which he had so 
long wished to acquire ; he turned him therefore softly 
on one side, so as to permit the blood to exude as he 
spoke. The head of the son of the wilderness oflTered 
a shocking spectacle to the eye of Livingston and the 
silent German. His fur cap had been thrown far from 
him by his fall ; and his bare head was thus discovered 
in its horrible disfiguration. His face was dabbled in 
jgore, mixed with the black ruins of the forest covering 
the soil ; and his eyes, in their increased obliquity, 
spake' the agonies of his body and of his mind. At 
first, bis teeth being clenched, the words or sounds 
which he uttered were rendered too confused to be un- 
derstood 5 but presently he recovered the power of 
the muscles of his head, and a convulsive lau^h which 
succeeded his trance threw silent horror into the 
minds of the witnesses of his last moments. Then be 
spoke in a rough sepulchral voice. 



221 

" W-here i& the water, ye dogs. My throat is dry. 
Html in the air, as the fiend bowis in my ear, and call 
the clouds. Is it you, Jacki^ What tinkles there? 
Stop ; fite on the heathen bounds, Harper. I missed • 
tbem ; aod Ob ! what racks me here ? Hist ; hide 
yourselves. What ! am I alone } Where have the vil- 
laias &ed i Here, Jack ; come you sparing dog ; give 
me the glass ; I thirst like hell. Hand the cup here." 

Then followed another laugh with convulsions, more 
terrifiek than the first, particularly to Conrad, who, in 
bis good nature had run down the hill, in spite of bis 
ap{>rehensions^ and returned with the crown of his hat 
ftiii of water from a spring. Rogers, during this fit 
having rejected a greater quantity of bloods was appa* 
reotly relieved for awhile, and continued to speak. 

" Captain Livingston, there must be a cowardly soul 
within you, that sees a dying man beg for a drink, and 
£^r not. Fear ye the r^d dogs i They are some of 
your friends. I am no man to crouch and will not b^g, 
but would give my rifle for a drop of water ; yea, my 
rifle ! Ah what a fool ! I hare done with it, and all 
ihinks of earth. Curse the pain ! D' ye think there 
is another life i Say, doctor. I never prayed in this 
life. I swear I won 't pray in t* other. Whlat should I 
pray for i My soul i 1 'd be puzzled to know what to 
ask, I love nothing but water, a drink ; I strangle ; a 
drink, a drink.'^ 

"Hold," said Livingston, arresting the arm of Con- 
rad, who in his simplicity was about to offer the draught 
to the lips of the wretch ; *' hold, for 'b^ soon as he 
drinks, he dies ; and I shall lose the only chance of 
bearing hint speak." This he whispered in the Germab's 
6jar, aod continued . to Rogers, " I .will once be cruei^ 
afid withhold fron^ you the object of yotir^^iesire till you 
speak. . Where is Burton's daughter i " 

" The Quaker's daughter ? Ah ! Perdition on you 
all. Will ye give me th6 water then ; will ye ? " 
19* 



222 

" If your torments cannot be relieved witbout, I will^ 
though not without warning you of the consequence." 

'* Well then, give it without ; for, by George, now that 
I am on the rack, I '11 swear it 's the last joy I have to 
ktiow I can be muin^ and so cheat the old hypocrite of 
bis hope. Rogers is not a coinmoo man. From a boy 
to this hour, he cared not for pain ; and now the'thougin 
of flinching, when it 's near over, would make him hate 
the sight of wat^r. Confusion I Blast the dogs, and the 
pangs. What say f Bring on the last. Keep it, then ; 
for I '11 live to show you there is spunk in my veins. I 
scorn you, I hate you, I hate the world ; aiYd O i shame 
on your heads to keep water from a thirsty man, but 
shame and curses on me, if I ask." 

" Will you not speak at last f " 

'^ 1 '11 speak as long as my gurgling throat can ring ; 
but to curse you and the bind that trembles there. But 
I feel it here. It 's bursting at last ; it swells me big, 
and I shall burst. Think ye the soul will live ? Say ; 
another life ! Tell me, doctor. Harper, come quickly 
, with the jug. A draught. O ! for a draught. Kill, 
^ kill the dogs. Flay their heads." 

His words were once more interrupted by a fit of 
convulsion, which, by its violence seemed to exbaust 
the vital energy of his frame. He once more recovered 
the power of speech ; but it was merely to utter the 
words, " a drink, give a drink," till Conrad, bewildered 
and touched by his agonies, forgot the injunction of 
Livingston, who seemed wrapt in a trance of sorrow and 
despair, and gave Rogers the water, which he drank to 
the very last drop. Then the wretch opened his eyes 
with a dreadful stare, raised his head once, contracting 
his lips, with a gnash of his teeth ; and falling back 
with a convulsive swelling of his neck, expired witboiat 
a groan. 



223 



CHAPTER Xllf. 

Some- feeliii£|s are to mortals given 
With less of earth in them than heaven ; 
And if there lie a human tear 
From passion's dross refined and clear, 
A tear so limpid and so meek. 
It could not stain an angel's ch«ek, 
'T is that, which pious fathers shed. 
Upon a duteous daughter's head. - 

Scott. 

Livingston was roused frora the stata of silent immo- 
bility ia which he had long remaioed, as soon as bis eye 
caught the last syoiptoms of struggling life, on the dark 
countenance of Rogers ; whilst the reverse took place in 
Conr«d. He had, in bis ignorance, imagined that the 
water obtained by him, might, for want of rarer medi- 
cines, bring relief or a cure, for aught he knew, to the 
agonizing wretch. But when be saw the fatal effect 
produced by, his untimely kindness, he was struck with 
terror and dismay. He accused hinaself, it seemed, in 
his heart, for the sudden death of the ruffian, and ap- 
peared petrified with the thought, till sobs and tears 
expressed his honest grief and repentance for his well- 
meant deed. Then only could our hero make him 
comprehend that he had but saved Rogers from the 
torments which preceded inevitable death ; and that by 
so doing be had anticipated his own intention to comply 
with the wish of the dying man, from whose mouth be 
no longer hoped to receive the information, after which 
be had longed with ^o much anxiety. 

By means of part of a scathed tree, used as a lever, 
Livingston, assisted by Conrad, lifted from the earth, 
near the fatal spot, a long stone, lying partly buried 
in the ground ; and thus, in the vacant space left by the 
removal of the rock, they found sufficient room to bury 
the remains of the son of the wilderness. With little"* 
labour they accomplished the last duty which could be 
paid to him in this solitary place. 



024 

As Livlagston was about to motion his fetlbrul attea^ 
dant to depart, be perceived on the grouDd an object 
which fixed bis attention* It was oae of those fanciful, 
pocket-booksi or rather itecret caseS) such as have beea 
made in France, wholly constructed of metal plates and 
hinges, with a clasp or catch, so artfully concealed from 
the eye, that no one but the person acquainted with the 
secret, can at once find means to open it| if accurately 
closed. He took it, and on examining it with attention 
remarked that on a silver plate, designed for the plac& 
of the owner's name, that of J. Ralph, had been en- 
graved, apparently with a knife ; but evidently over 
another name previously scratched out with consvierable 
labour and care. It was probable that it had fallen from 
the pocket of Rogers, during the turns of convulsion, 
which bad preceded his deatii. Postponing the exami- 
nation of that cuiious relick to some future moment, 
Livingston preserved it with him, and proceeded instant- 
ly on bis journey with Conrad, for be deemed it pru^ 
dent to leave that neighbourhood, lest . they si^old 
encounter the murderers of Rogers. Who those were, 
could not be determined, but that they were Indians 
seemed certain, from several words which be had drop* 
ped in his incoherent speeches ; and although be had 
intimated that they were frietidty to Livingston, it was 
far more advisible to avoid them, than rely on the word 
of a man, who had so constantly and so persevertngijr 
-practised deception and villany. 

Livingston had not doubted, for one moment^ of the. 
urgency to persevere in his i^ention to warn Tadeua*- 
kund ; for although it appeared that the Paxton*boy4 
had fled,. on abandoning Rogers, yet there was no cer- 
tain reason to conclude that, for having lost one of their 
associates, they should be deterred from accomplishing 
their bloody design. But there was another cause 
which might have balanced every argument tHat reasoa 
could suggest. Eiluwia was there ; and as he came 
nearer the valley where she breathed, he seen^ed gra* 



225 

dually to recover bis wonted energy and arJour. The 
patient, who, internally wasted by the attacks of a dis- 
ease which urges him forcibly to inevitable death, is 
still willing on the eve of dissolution to delude his own 
thoughts, and smile on the ray which gilds his shroud 
with hope. 

The rest oT that day was spent in toiling through the 
rugged paths, which brought our travellers, at night, not 
far from the hills which enclose the sweet valley of 
Wyoming. They slept, as before, under the shade of a 
fir tree, and the dawn brought to them, with genial 
warmth and a serene sky, the hope of soon reaching 
the desired termination of their journey. Livingston, 
to avoid passing through the Indian village, chose to 
deviate a little from the direct path, and following the 
chain of hills before him, he directed hi^ steps to the 
memorable mountain, from which, when he had recov- 
ered fi'om his delirium, he had first surveyed the plains 
where felluwia lived. 

Among those wild and precipitous mountains they 
often met with fearful chasms and noisy brooks, which 
intercepted, and greatly retarded their progress. To- 
wards aoon, however, they reached a ravine which was 
supposed by l^ivingston to separate the mountain, on 
which they stood, from that which he so ardeptly wished 
to attain. He therefore turned to the west, and began, 
with Conrad, to descend the steep declivify before them. 
The two mountains, or perchance once, the single moun- 
tain, now separated by a deep chasm, hollowed by a 
brook, were so near each other, that it seemed but a 
ste[^ to reach the other side ; but the travellers found it 
an arduous task merely to arrive at the bottom of the 
precipice. There they beheld a truly imposing sight. 
On both sides, the towering walls of rugged rocks rose 
perpendicularly over their heads, discovering here and 
there a peeping pine, that dared to grow in such a dizzy 
soil, ana trembled away its mournful existence, in a 
place where the sun merely glanced awhile in its daily 



226 

course. On the brow of the ridge, loftier trees waved 
their flexible branches over the abyss, and seemed to 
call those on the opposite brink to meet and shade the 
chasm below. But in the cold, damp recesses of the 
stream there reigned an awful spell of gloom which 
even enthralled the attention of Livingston. The water, 
bounding from rock to rock, here and there formed 
basins of limpid waves, which, in their purity seemed 
black as night ; for they stole their course in seeming 
darkness. Below such basics, the stream would dash 
down the subterranean cliffs, and rush back among the 
ruins of the ridge, forming a sheWer of glittering par- 
ticles, that played about in the air. In many places, the 
old trees from the lofty brink, burled down by the tem^ 
pest or by age, had accumulated their vast wrecks in 
heaps, which formed fantastick bridges and arches, all 
decorated with slimy moss, hanging down in dripping 
festoons, which, though with life, seemed to weep for 
want of air and light. In such places, the ruins of the 
vegetation, from above would clog the passage of the 
stream, and form little lakes where the trout loves to 
dance and dart in fitful leaps from its impetuous eIe-» 
ment, amidst tlie foam, and rushing, tumbling waves of 
the torrent in wrath. 

It was with greater difficulty that the travellers fopnd 
means to ascend, or rather to scale the steep, slippery 
path before them. At every step their hands and all 
the strength of their bodies were employed in preserving 
the situation which they had gained ; and there they 
breathed awhile, looking for a foothold, and some ob- 
ject to grasp. Conrad's spirits were greatly kept up by 
the encouraging assistance of Livingston, by words and 
by deeds ; but the good German, more than once, des- 
paired in his struggle for longer breath. Twice be was 
arrested in his fall from a dizzy rock, by the hand of 
Livingston, and thus saved from a dangerous leap into 
the very bottom of the chasm. At last, they safely 
reached a projecting ledge of rocks, which extended 



227 

far on both sides, and formed an easy and safer path 
for the weary foot of Conrad, who shouted with joy 
when be onc6 trod on that new esplanade. 

" My fery active and eloquent captain," said he, wip^ 
ing his brow, which too long had been incarcerated in 
his tight little hat, and on which was impressed a purple 
crown of glory, by the same diminutive head-piece, 
** do you know there is not such a roatin all Shermany ? 
Why, I *d rather life on pen per Nickel a complete 
week, than go town again, and then up one more time 
back. At the pattle of Brague, I was exposed to incre- 
tible tangers, but that was all in a flat 6eh. where I could 
turn without running the chance of breaking efery bone 
in my system. 1 leclare my praaf captain. I will follow 
you efery where, for the lofe of your honouraple self; 
but I would entreat your fiery prafery to consiter the 
tanger which hangs ofer and below your precious and 
inestimable life; for I tare not mention my comparatife- 
ly tespicable pody, that you may ko round, another 
time, for your worthy sake, I mean." 
* " Console yourself, my good friend," said Livingston, 
" we are near the end of our labour ; and I see now a 
slope on the rock, which will lead us to safe and plea- 
sant roads." 

In reality, the ledge on which they stood terminated 
under another ledge which, like* the step of a stair-case, 
led them to another, this one to more ; and after awhile, 
they began to tread an easy road, when compared to 
the precipitous ascent behind them. They continued to 
advance among the desolate and barren rocks ; when, 
on a sudden, Conrad stopped as if struck by an unseen 
bolt. 

" Stop, stop, captain Lifingstone," said he in a low, 
mysterious voice, " I see a salvage, a pig Injan." 

" Well then, advance. Where ? " 

" Oh ! that is the question, where. I cannot precise- 
ly see him now, pecause the kreat rock is larcher ; but 
I saw his black head. Don 't ko that way my heroick 
captain." 



• • 



228 

^* Say, where you saw the bead. He must be one 
of the Lenapc." 

" Ach ! ach ! the Laynapper ? Your fery tenacious 
memory forgets WhaDtgormant, my macknaDimous cap- 
tain." ' 

*' Cease that jest, and tell me where you saw the 
Indian, I command you," said Livingston, io a peremp- 
tory tone pf voice. 

" Cock your rifle, my chuditious captain," replied 
Conrad, who, daring to make no other reply, coura- 
geously determined to follow, and even at last preceded 
his master, towards the huge rock, where he bad seen 
a savage face. '* I '11 cut the ears of them all. I care 
not a snap for a thousand of the plack-faced rascals. 
There, there he is," exclaimed he abruptly, and in a 
loud voice, which chimed somewhat like fear, or ''at 
least an instinctive wish to inspire a like sensation in 
the foe. 

In reality, as they turned round the ledge, they be- 
held one solitary Indian, ^seated on a stone, while a 
female, kneeling before him, seemed occupied in bind- 
ing a wound on his foot ; and on approaching, the 
throbbings of his heart, even sooner than eyes, told 
Livingston, that it was Elluwia at the feet of Tadeus- 
kund himself. The chief knew his preserver at orfe 
glance ; and with that countenance, where dignity 
dwelt, he cast on him a look of benevolence, though 
no smile enlivened his features. In the meanwhile, he 
extended his hand to Livingston, who rushed to press it 
in his own. Elluwia had not risen from her kneeling 
situation ; for her father's foot was still bleeding, but 
she turned to him whom she could nevgr cease to love, 
and stretching forth her left hand, refrained not from 
offering it first to meet his. Joy was playing on the 
purity of her beautiful face, but presently a tear, not of 
joy, slightly bedimmed the crystal of her eye 

" My heart is gladdened in thy sight," said Tadeus- 
kund ; ^^ the day is not clear, but my friendship needs 
not the rays of the sun to live." 



229 

"With all the joy I experience on .seelDg yoir- I 
(deeply regret to find you thus bleeding. Has a cowards 
]y enemy dared in ambush to make aa attempt against 
your life ? " . v 

" No. My hfeart bleeds more than the pcop of my 
body. My children have not one mind ; and the spirit 
of war struggles against my arm. Base fiends, I fear ^ 
not. My eye breaks the shades, and my hand crushes' 
the biding foe. But 1 fear the Great Spirit above, who 
breathes no more on my children. He once warmed 
the bosom of our land with his love ; his wrath chills 
now." 

" Is there no hope left of our obtaining peace and 
friendship with your tribe ? " 

" The Trumpet of War sounds for peace ; but his 
strong arm bears alone the old chain of union, wound 
around us, by the good Friend from beyond the great 
lake. Tadeuskund could lift its weight against a host 
of nameless numbers, did not the Great Spirit frown." 

Livingston, while he grieved to perceive, that the 
great heart of Tadeuskund, if. not shaken, was at least 
dejected, by the opposition and division among his sub- 
jects, proceeded nevertheless to inform him of all his 
efFons to bring about a good understanding and harmo* 
ny between his nation and the Indian tribes ; o( his 
journey to Lancaster, and of the discovery of the plot 
which caused his return to Wyoming. But many a 
glance turned upon Elluwia, while he spoke, assured 
her that he had never ceased to nourish in his heart.the 
flame which furnished a more powerful incitement than 
mere love of justice, to restore the broken peace. 

" I thank the toil of thy love," said Tadeuskund, 
" Thy heart is ftm and thy breath speaks* truth. . Yet 
dread not the lurking enemy for my life. The Trum- 
pet of War sounds terror in their ear , but dread the 
poison of burning waters brought amoirg us ; dread the 
spirit of darkness that blows the fever of death, and 
sigh with me at the wrath of the Mannitto who turns 
20 



330 

his face far from us, and seems no more wiUing to Idok 
* on his red children." 

Never till now had the voice of Tadeuskund sounded 
as if agitated or faltering in its tone. His feelings were 
this time slightly marked by a' certain alteration in his 
notes; but his bold, aspiring countenance remained un- 
moved and firm. Elluwia had now bound his foot, and 
rising from her reclining attitude, she made a sign to 
him, which intimated her having accomplished the per- 
formance of her healing art. Tadeuskund then slowly 
rose ; and leading forth his new guests, he spoke thus 
to Livingston, 

^' Thy return is a fountain of gladness to moisten the 
dryness of my heart; but man too often grants to 
thoughts of himself a power to drown thoughts of others 
in their course. The ground in the plain of our fires is 
CO longer firm ; it trembles under our feet ; and the 
might of the Trumpet of War is often laid asleep. My 
hand reaches far still, but my eyes have no more ^e 
light, that once made the mountains like the wave of 
the brook before me. Thy breath shall not be stolen 
from thy breast while I breathe ; but I cannot permit 
thy step to follow me to my fire, for the tomahawk is . 
half raised, and the Lenape will dance the dance of 
war round the post that my hand twice has torn from 
the ground. While I wake, the songs of warring not in 
the air, and the hatchet trembles in their hand, but Ta- 
deuskund is often led to the land of dreams by the 
poison of forgetfulness." 

" May I not obtain the permission of embracing Bur- 
ton once more, ere I depart ?" 

*< Thy eye shall see him, and thy mouth shall speak 
words for bis ear. But he must come to thee. The 
cave in the rock where sickness was taken from thy 
limbs by Elluwia, shall hide thee once more, and Ta- 
deuskund will watch.*' 

Saying this, he waved his hand to recommend silence 
or awhile^ lest the sounds of voices might attract the 



231 

dUentioQ of warriors, whose presence oa the mountaift 
apparently was known to him. Meanwhile they advanc- 
ed wiih little speed, on account of the wound on "his 
foot, which seemed to give great pain ; and caused a 
sensible swelling of the limb. It was not till the sun 
had nearly terminated his course, that the party reach- 
ed the well known* retreat oa the mountain side. There 
they found every thing nearly as it was when Livingston 
had left it the preceding year ; and it seemed by the 
Various article^ which it contained, that Tadeuskund 
was wont often (o retire there himself. He laid him- 
self down to relieve both the swelling and the pain, 
which, to judge from the appearance of the first, must 
have been excruciating. He then spoke a few words 
in a, low voice to Elluwia, who instantly prepared to 
depart. In the meanwhile, Conrad, who appeared quite 
fexhau^ed by the toil of his journey, had, not without a 
very humble bow^ taken a seat on the mossy couch at 
the foot of Tadeuskund ; and a moment after, having 
exchanged his sitting position for one more likely to 
indulge his ardent desire for sleep, he was already 
buried in very innocent, though not very silent slumbers. 
Livingston therefore was permitted to follow Elluwia, 
and speak to her without the fear of interruption or 
delay ; and he could do so with the less appearance of 
intrusion, as being acquainted with the paths, he might 
assist her steps down the steep declivity of the rock. 

Hardly had she left the cell when approaching near 
her, he seized her hand, w^hich she did not attempt to 
withdraw ; and accompanied her for a time in silance* 
Their hearts were both too much swelled to permit them 
to speak. He at last uttered these words, 
. " Elluwia, you see the friend who owes to you his 
Jife, and is more than ever convinced that you alone 
can give value to the gift which you bestowed upon 
him. I am returned to receive my doom from your 
inouth." 
'*' Ob ! Friend of the brave, why did thy love seek 



/ 



S32 



.. J est in the bosom of Elluwia ; and why did mine 
steal ampug the flowers of thy life to wither the field of 
happiness ? " 

" Were you to have lived and died unseen and un- 
known to me, I could not have been happy; for I had 
formed dreams and founded my bliss on those imagin- 
ings, which you alone have realized, which you alone 
can destroy." 

"I, too, had dreams. I dreanat that the brave who 
quickened the beatings of my heart might dpink forget- 
fulness, and breathe happily in his own far land ; whilst 
I, like the many-coloured bow in the sky, smiling in the 
rnist, in sight of the distant sun, might see the beams 
over thee, after the storm, and fade gladly in the 
thought." 

" With you, I am the happiest; without you, my life 
is like a horrible dream of all that is painful arid intol- 
erable in the thought." 

'* Oh ! why give a new source of tears to our eyes i^ 
During the freezing moons, the dying plants, kept in 
life through the frost, are cheered, on a day of bright- 
ness, by the short rays of the sun ; but the morrow 
brings death, for the coldest moon is not come, and 
must blight. We might have slept the sleep of pain- 
less frost, and thus not ache at the return of the cold 
dream." 

" This moment pays me for months of lingering tor- 
tures ; and were it to he the Inst, I should .suffer less, 
for I cannot survive one day your absence, if it be for- 
ever." 

*' O ! shame, for the warrior to die for love. The 
friend of Tadeuskund must live ; live for his land, live 
for his fathers, for the glory of great deeds, and feed on 
the pride of having lent his might to the king of the 
Lenape. Elluwia may sleep the last long $leep, fi:)r 
her arm cannot lift the hatchet to guard her father's 
breath ; and soon, soon he will need only strength 
around his life. Oh ! then I shall die, but die in pride, 
for I know thou wilt live." 



233 

" Speak not of duties, of glory, to rae at this hour, 
for my greatest glory is to possess the heart of Elluwia.'* 

" Well then, be it ever so ; for my joy flows in the 
same stream. Live in the pride of me, as I do in 
thine ; but ray glory grows on the tree of thy courage 
and strength, and withers when it dies." 

" Such is your power over me, that you could inspire 
me with any resolution, but that of leaving you." 

" The sun is laid in sleep, and I must speed to our 
fires* To-morrow shall I bring thee the old friend of 
the good ; and then we must breathe the last smile on 
each other's looks." 

She had no sooner uttered these words, than she 
hastened down the steep path before her, with her 
wonted agility, and forbade Livingston, with a wave of 
her hand, further to follow her steps. It was not long 
ere the eye of Livingston ceased to perceive her form 
among the cliffs and bushes of the mountain side. He 
remained gazing on the vast plain before him, seeing 
nothing, hearing nothing, thinking on nothing but the 
melody of her last word ; and unwilling perchance to 
exchange such a confused reverie, for the long, but 
despairing prospect before him, through a life of sorrow 
and gloom, if bereft of her, who alone could constitute 
the theme of all his joys. He was drawn from his con- 
templation of thought, by Tadeuskund, who, anxious at 
his absence, sought for, and called to him from the peak 
of the rock above. It seemed that the chief had ob- 
served him there for some time, for he expressed his 
astonishment at Livingston being so little fatigued by 
his journey as to gaze in the twilight upon an unseen 
space. Livingston replied, that having of lale inured 
bis body to the most violent exercise, he suffered very 
little from the fatigue of the day. This he could say 
without deviating from the strictest truth, for his mind 
was too much agitated to perceive bodily weariness or 
pain. 

• They returned to the cell, where Livingston, so sfs 
20* 



234 

not to excite the solicitude of his royal friend, laid. him- 
self down by his side, and even endeavoured to sleep, 
but in vain. From his couch his eyes, unclosed, watch- 
ed, by turns, the falling stars, and the little twinkling 
gems of the sky ; and at last caught the glimmering of 
the dawn on the long chain of hills beyond the Susque- 
hanna* Tadeusdund had slept long, and seemed great- 
ly relieved, while the swelling of his foot was considera^ 
bly abated. Remarking as he awoke that Livingston's 
eyes were not closed, he rose and addressed him with 
a slight smile, an uncommon alteration of his solemn 
features. 

*' Let the dawn gleam clearly on thee, brother. I 
rejoice to see thee breathe softly ; and I thank the 
Great Spirit who gave virtue to the art of Elluwia on 
my wound, for I shall be more free to tread the soil 
pressed by thy enemies." 

" 1 likewise pray that this day may prove a day of 
blessings upon you ; and that a new light may fall upon 
us, which will suggest means to make you and your 
people united and happy." 

As Livingston spoke, the smile upon Tadeuskund's 
lips gradually vanished, and his countenance relapsed 
' into a cast of melancholy sternness, which had struck 
. Livingston on the preceding day. 

. '' Call not the lying memory of .the past, by wishes 
upon the coming days ; they are all clouded with a dark 
mist from the blood of the red sons. No. My heart 
is a stone. — I have had a dream ; and 1 could wish to 
V be a woman, that I might weep, 1 have seen our land 
torn from our children. Our trees rose in smoke, and 
the very rocks were shaken from their grasp. 1 heard 
the cries of my children ;,for I was in the rich land 
below, and I beard them cry vengeance, but the cries 
were drowned in the sound of the hatcJiets of the whites 
felling the trees of our land. I saw the last red man, 
robbed of the ground to lay his bones, hungering on a 
rock not his own, made a coward with burning poison. 



235 

Itle trembled on the cold stone, and dared not lay bis 
foot on the bosom of the mother of men. His limbs 
shivered and stiffened ; bis breath smelt of death* But 
before he gasped his last sigh, he stretched his neck, 
and raised bis white balls to the sky. He bowled, but 
the Great Spirit would not hear, and nothing more was 
beard, save the rock near him, that mocked his voice in 
the air." 

Tadeuskund seemed to perceive at that moment that 
be might betray his feelings too far ; and therefore 
stopped abruptly, turning for awhile from his friend. 
There was in his breast a deep sense of the wrongs 
suffered by Indians, from the hands of such wretches 
as Rogers ; and bis soul was ninrred at the thought of 
the downfall and entire destruction of bis once power- 
ful and numerous tribe. But he was 6rmly attached to 
to the society of Friends, and the Christians at large, 
whose interest he had vowed never to abandon, from ■ 
the moment that he became one himself. He left the 
cell ; and while Livingston refrained from following his 
steps, he could not withstand an involuntary impulse, 
which led h'un to follow the chief with his eyes ; for the 
agitation of his mind excited in Livingston an indistinct 
anxiety on the cause of his sudden departure. But 
Livingston was much relieved, when he saw Tadeus- 
kund on a high rock, turned towards the rising sun, and 
addressing a fervent prayer to the Divinity. He return- 
ed after a while, and had apparently recovered bis 
usual composure, and a complete sway over his pas- 
sions. But he spoke no more, and seemed to await the 
return of Elluwia with Burton, with some impatience ; 
for now ajid then he would look down the path, as if 
seeking among the thicket for the form of his daughter ; 
and yet hours passed away, and she came not; several 
times he had ascended the highest rock to obtain a 
more distant view of the path ; and each time was dis- 
appointed in bis growing expectation of her return. 
Livingston, on bis side, felt a greater anxiety perhaps, 



236 

as his mind was filled with doubts and apprehensions of 
every kind. 

As to Conrad, the placidity of his temper was not 
ruffled in the least by tbe delay ; for as few words had 
been spoken, and as those betrayed nothing of the agi- 
tation of his master's mind, he knew ,of nought that 
mdicated a deviation from the natural and desirable 
order of things. He had been made acquainted with 
the sweets of a plentiful morning stuck ; and having 
satisfied the cravings of natiire, he had proceeded to 
load his pipe of ecume de mer, and was solacing the toil 
of his digestion with the curling emanations of the 
drowsy leaves. 

It was past noon, and Elluwia bad not appeared. 
The sun was still unclouded, and poured its reviving 
rays over the vale of Wyoming ; but the signs of an 
approaching storm were seen in the horizon. A bed 
of dark, heavy clouds slowly accumulating, and advanc- 
ing towards the plain, like a moving ridge of distant 
mountains, seemed to bode an approaching tempest, and 
harmonized with the gloomy presentiments, which agi- 
tated the mind of Livingston, and that perchance of the 
last king of the Lenape. Livingston sought in the eyes 
of Tadeuskund, as it were, for some explanation, or at 
least for his conjectures on the delay, which seemed to 
give him an equal anxiety, but he pould read nothing 
there ; the chief's countenance was still unmoved^ 
whilst he felt all the pangs of inquietude, disappoint- 
ment, and internal dejection. 

At last, they saw the long expected objects of their 
hopes and anxiety. Burton was hastening with un- 
wonted speed, assisting, or rather assisted by the kind, 
but ill-fated EUuwia. In a few minutes they met Liv- 
ingston and the chief, who rushed forth in sight of those 
who inspired and deserved such unlimited affection. 
But on their countenances, all that is fatal could be 
read. Burton, not able to speak, seized ihe hand of 
Livingston, while he strove with signs at least to express 



237 

to Tadeuskund the calamity painted in his looks. But 
Elluwia, the lovely, (hough lofty daughter of the forest, ' 
decision and firmness elevating the beauty of her in- 
spiring face, spoke first to her royal father. 

*' The strength of the Trumpet of War is needed to 
quell the storm that roars the extinction of our fires. 
Wancomand and bis treacherous Mingoes have given 
new stings to their arts ; and their d( ceiving words 
have poured rage, and rebellion in the ears of the 
Lenape. Many warriors have raised the pillar of war, 
and dance, singing the battle song. They sharpen their 
hatchets, and will, before darkness lays earth asleep, 
raise tbem over the heads of our new white brothers of 
the praying land. Blood will flow in streams, unless 
the arm of their king abashes the boldness of the spirit 
of fight." 

Tadeuskund's determination seemed as instantaneous 
as the perception of the news by which it was created. 
His eye flashed not with the indignation or the rage 
which we, civilized or altered men, in such a moment 
would feel and express ; but his step, in spite of his 
wound, assumed the firmness and dignity of might. He 
turned to Livingston, and said, 

^' Friend of my life, my children's voices call me. 
1 grieve to leave the«, where my arm cannot reach, but 
I know all thy enemies have now turned their weapons 
over the heads of the Lenape. Thy eyes once more 
shall see the Trumpet of War ere the sun lights ouc 
land. Be strong." 

Saying this, he turned towards the path, and made 
several hasty steps down the steep rocks, when per- 
ceiving that Elluwia w«^ preparing to follow him, he 
waved back his hand, ancT spoke these few words with 
a peremptory voice, 

. " Elluwi.i, thy life is here in no danger, and among 
our fires my knowledge must be free. Thy foot cannot 
follow. Be strong." 

He was about to proceed, but Elluwia endeavoarud 
to obiaiif leave to attend him. 



238 

" Mighty father, strong king of the Lenape, Ellu^a 
prays ; forbid her not. She fears for herself no hatchet, 
which being turned over her head, might not threaten 
that of her father. Where the eagle's talons are em- 
ployed, there the eaglet's wing should wave, and learn 
to bleed. The red drops from our veins give delight 
when shed, instead of tears from our eyes, in the dread- 
of those we love. Pray, let me follow the path of ibe 
Trumpet of War." 

" My will is fixed. Tadeuskund will not change. 
My thoughts are strong, and no words must shake the 
firmness of wisdom. Elluwia must stay." 

Saying this, he hastened down, having cast a glance 
of encouragement and consolation on his adopted 
daughter, and of benevolence on his friends. In a mo- 
ment he disappeared among the trees of the mountain 
side, leaving his tender, lovely Elluwia in tears, but re- 
solved obediently to follow his command. Meanwhile 
Livingston and Burton still held each other's hand in 
silence and continued for a time to look to the spot 
where they had ceased to see the brave king of the 
Lenape. Livingston, having cast his eye on Elluwia, 
first spoke to his venerable friend. 

" Dear father, this is a sad moment for us to meet, 
hut we must profit by the only hours which perhaps we 
shall ever be permitted to spend together ; and strive to 
discover a truth, without the hope of which 1 cannot 
endure existence." He then once more gave an ac- 
count of his journey to Lancaster, but expatiated more 
on the subject of Rogers, whom he had no other in- 
ducement to mention to Tadeuskund, than as a mur- 
derer baffled in his designs. When he described his 
obduracy and the persevering silence of hatred in his 
last moments. Burton was deeply moved, and seemed 
bereft of the last hope, which solac^pd his sorrow ; but 
when Livingston came to mention the case found op the 
spot, where the villain had paid for his crimes. Burton 
started from his dejection, and earnestly demanded to 



339 

see it. Livingston instantly produced the last relick of 
the son of the wilderness, and with a mixed sensation 
of hope and anxiety, read at once on the features of, 
his friend, that it was well knpwn to his eyes. Burton 
held it in his hand, in the imniohility of one, who has 
discovered a secret, which he has shunned to learn* 
^is eye was fixed on the clnsp, and he seemed unwill- 
ing and unable to proceed farther or to speak. At last 
be said to Livingston — 

" I have now the conviction of that, which in my 
worldly mind^ I often suspected ; though my profession 
of love to man, and my aversion to unfounded suspi*. 
cions led me to refrain from mentioning the thought. 
Rogers was indeed John Ralph, my wife's first. suitor; 
the same man, or rather boy, for he was much younger 
than myself, who had filled our neiglibourhoojd with 
early deeds of violence and wickedness; but who by a ; 
strange dissimmulation, for he could injure with impuni- • 
ty, persisted in an afiectation of total oblivion towards " 
us, and never appeared before me. 1 learned since, 
that various crimes had compelled him to leave the 
country and his name ; but rejected the thought, that he 
was my oppressor, for if it be so, my lost chil4 must 
have been murdered by his hands." 

These last words he uttered with the faltering voice 
of one who had just been robbed of the object of his 
tenderness, and continued to hold the case unopened^ 
as if fearing lest be should find there the conviction of 
what he had just intimated. Meanwhile Livingstoa 
preserved the silence of respect for a father's grief, — 
wailing till he should obtain the ascendency over his 
feelings, which might permit him to examine the con-* 
tents of the secret case. Elluwia had ceased to weep,— 
for her reason was equal to the strength of her mind j 
approaching Burton, she took one of his hands, gently 
jpressed it, and Jed him back to the cell, where they 
might be sheltered from the storm, which was announc-* 
ed by the distant growlings of thunder, and a few large 
drops of rain. 



\ 

240 

Conrad also seemed at last to participate in the geiw 
era! anxiety of his friends ; and a certain tremour of 
bis skin bad spread a shade of gloom over bis unsus- 
picious^ unapprebending mind. Xhe windiDg stem of 
his pipe still graced the elegant curvature of bis arm; the 
horny tube was still seen playing on his ruddy lips, but 
no smoke any longer curled in veins before bis face, 
and indeed, although the minced leaves bad long been 
extingubhed, he was in truth unaware of the accident, 
for he continued in faint pu& to breathe out the expira- 
tions of bis beloved pipe. His eyes, with frequent, 
winks, had sought alternately in those of Burton, his 
friend, and Elluwia for the cause of the dai^ers and 
solicitude, which the words understood *by him had but 
imperfectly ei.plained ; but enough was known by bim 
to create in his simpathizing heart a serious wish ta 
learn more. He advanced, therefor^, with the rest, , 
towards the sheltering rock ; and although notorious for 
an aversion to moisture from the clouds, or the waves 
of the Lehigh, for instance, we really believe that such 
a sentiment was not the efficient cause of his return. 

Having reached the cell,' Burton seated himself, and 
recovering his composure, he said to Elluwia — 

" Thou art the kindest of bpings, and the hope I 
might discover that thou wert my daughter, had long 
solaced my weakness with reviving hopes ; but now it is 
from thee still that I receive consolation, when I see 
thy outward firmness and placidity in the anguish of 
thy anxiety." 

" Friend of the good," said Elluwia, '• cast off the 
the cloud, and smile a father's smile on me. Far from 
Tadeuskund, my breath would faint and cease ; but the 
love that warms my heart for thee, were I thy daughter^ 
could not iiicrease." 

" Let me entreat you," said Livingston to his friend, 
"to open the clasp of the case, and examine the .con- 
tents. You surely cannot have scruples on such a 
lawful examination of your own property ; for I imagine 



241 

that relick was wrested from you, 'mid the general 
ruin, by Rogers or Ralph." 

" It is mine indeed, I brought it from France ; and 
on this silver plate my name was once engraven, but 
the wicked man erased it, and instead marked his own. 
But I can hardly hope to find there the records of his 
bloody deeds. I must ever be ignorant of the fate of 
my child." 

*' Why would you neglect the last, the only memento 
of the wretch, which may throw light on so important 
a subject." 

" 1 had some scruples I own ; but on the whole, by 
so doing, I will not, and cannot do injury to a living 
man ; and do but take possession of that which is my 
own." 

Saying this, Burton pushed down the invisible spring, 
and instantaneous^ opened the case. " It was full of 
various old papers, bills, and one or two letters, directed 
to J. Ralph ; but nothing was found which could in the 
least indicate the result or the cause of the crime com- 
mitted on Burton's family. There were several secret 
folds which had been examined, except one, which 
Burton seemed unwilling or at least afraid to unclose. 

" In this fold," said he, while his fingers seemed 
slightly to tremble, as they touched the invisible open- 
ing, " in that recess I had stored a picture of rtiy 
dear wife, which in my days of romance, I sketched 
with my own hands. I fear to look upon the vacant 
place, for I know Rogers too well, to suppose that he 
left it there uninjured." ' 

*' Will you permit me to open it myself? " said Liv- 
ingston. " If the picture be there, it will be delightful 
for me to restore it to your eyes ; if not, I may still 
discover something which will tell us the secret we long 
to know." 

Burton resigned the case to the eag:er hand of Liv- 
ingston, who seemed to breathe, to exist for that pur- 
pose alone. The sketch was not there, unless thus 
21 



242 

coHld be called a paper on which ink had been daubed 
in every direction, with studious care to conceal the 
slightest mark which might have previously existed 
there.. The centre of the paper, where the face might 
have been designed, was scratched moreover, apparent- 
ly with the nail, and blackened^ with deeper shades of 
ink. But on the back, these words were read with 
anxious care by Livingston — " The daughter shall pay 
for her motherU pride,^^ Though this implied studied 
': revenge, yet it seemed rather to express that Julia, then 
alive, was probably not destined to die, but to suffer. 
In the very bottom of the recess, was an old scrap of 
paper, which at first had escaped the scrutiny of Liv- 
ingston* He unfolded it; and, on a sudden, having 
read the lines almost effaced, once traced there by the 
hand of some forester, he threw himself on his knees 
before EUuwia in an ecstatick transport, exclaiming with 
a broken voice, 

•'Dear sistef of my life, your father is here. I 
breathe, I live. Once more, I am myself, and — happy. 
Father, she is your daughter, and I am transported. 
Oh ! joy. She surely is your daughter." 

•There was a sudden shock of the most agitating sen- 
sations in all the party. Elluwia rose from her seat 
with the dignity indelibly impressed in all her move- 
ments. Her eyes wer^ first lifted to heaven ; and while 
a tear moistened their living veils, she turned to Bur- 
ton, who no longer was the calm, wise Quaker, but 
rather like a fond child, in the delight succeeding to his 
infantile grief. He rose, but, tottering on his feel, fell 
back in the impotence oJf overpowering joy, seized her 
hand, which he kissed, and having wiped a tear with 
that hand, he kissed it again ; and then taking the pa- 
per, tried to read ; but unable to see, kissed the dear 
band again. 



248 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Why shoot to the blast. 
These embers, like stars from the firmament cast .' 
Heaveti's fire is aronod thee, to blast and to buni ; 
Keturu to thy duelUu^g! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of asiics shall mark where it stood. 

Campbelu - 

At lust. Burton, coUecliag his streogth till then pros- 
trated by joy^ wished to make himself assured that 
Livingston was not deceived by his senses ; and while 
bis trembhT^ band shook the. paper, like the storm- 
beaten leaf of the birch, he succeeded in reading thestf 
words — 

" These linos ara to let you know as how the bar- 
gain turned off ibr me. Now I think you acted the 
sneaking part, for if you did as much as burn the rats 
with the trap, you might as well, (since you deal so 
frothy)' ^^ ^^^' ^^^ nothing for the girl from my hands ; 
?.out as it stands, I 've cleared the grog. But you raus 'nt 
^'forget what you know, I '11 stand to it in your face ; and 
you will know the little she B is in good hands. I sold 
her for eleven shillings, York money, to Shingask, the 
coppered dog, who, like a fool,* gave her to Teddy us- 
kuad of the Fork Indians. But the fellow took such 
a fancy to July, he foodies her like his own, and Is a 
going to take her to tite Susquehanna, where she '11 get 
to be as you say, [here the writing was so nearly oB- 
liternted that several 3vords were entirely effaced ; a Httle 
lower were these lines]-r-take heed of the hint I gave 
you ; aad as long as you are true to your word, I '11 be 
mum. ' Jack L;" 

" Oh there cau be no doubt," said Burton ; " thou 
art indeed my daughter ;" and he clasped her in his 
arms, shedding his paternal tears on her neck. Liv- 
ingston, in his ecstacy, was unable to utter a single'word, 
while good Conrad, abandoning his pipe, for awhile, 



344 

stqod in silent delight ; and as be winked, bis large eyes 
were covered with a mist which at last was actually 
converted into a ear. 

. ** I often prayed to the Great Spirit," said Elluwia, 
*' that I might live for no other Aither than Tadeus- 
kund ; for Ins love upon me was like the sun upon the 
dew that rises in its sight, and loves to be lost in the 
li^t of life. But now 1 feel that lean rejoice in finding 
another Auher, He loves the Lenapc, and my heart is 
proud in hirn»" 

'* Be assured," snid Burton, " that I will ever join 
with thee in thy gratitude and love for Tadeuskund. 
The care and affection which he bestowed upon thee, 
•make him dearer to my heart." 

** Oh ! the great Trumpet of War, the king of the 
mighty Lenape, who calls me daughter,, is kind, is dear 
to the breathing of my. life ; and may his arm long be 
stretched over his loving children. But the loud thun- 
der that roars over our heads roars over him. O ! may 
the Great Spirit give him strength and light." »ppy. 
Elluwia said these last words in a voice, which, miis 
tremulousness, spoke her deep anxiety for the life "of 
her adopted . father. In reality, the cloud had now 
spread its black mantle over the valley of Wyoming; 
and while tbiC rain poured in torrents on th^ dark- 
ened earth. Incessant peals of thunder rent the air, and 
vivid flashes of lightning illumined the gloomy scene. 
But the storm, had it not harmonized with the sad pre- 
sentiments in Elluwia's heart, could not have been 
noticed by the party, wIk) were ajbsorbed in far deeper 
thoughts than those e&eited by a gaze upon the raging 
of an angry cloud. 

■ " You must not at this happy hour," said Livingston, 
" you must not let gloomy thoughts interrupt the happi- 
ness of your mind. Tadeuskund is beloved by his 
children, who can never, in their wildest rage, dare to 
disobey his commands j and if Wancomand, or his 
fierce tribe, should attempt aught against him, the 
Lenape will crush the enemy of the brave." 



245 

" Elluwia fears not the weapon of a fiend, for the 
Kfe of the Trumpet of War ; but she fears the poison 
which she alone, at times, has been able to turn from 
his lips." 

" My fery courachous young laty, that 's Miss Bur- 
ton now," said Conrad, " excuse my poldness to say, 
the boison can do him no harm to tay, pelieve my wort ; 
for my humble eyes have seen your kreat father, L 
mean his machesty king Tadeuskund, my eyes have seen, 
1 say, his noble hand take a larch gotirt full of rum, this 
noon, and his royal lips did sip the whole, upon ray 
feritable word. Now the peferage had no alarming 
symptom upon his system, my fery attentive princess, 
Miss Burton, that is. And I conclude there is no tan- 
ker at all, at all, from that liquor. He stepped down 
as much like a tancing master as efer he did in his 

• " The kind hand that restores a daughter J5^y old 
age," said Burton, " will, I doubt not, avert the dangers 
from thy father of adoption. Let us trust in the good- 
ness of the Ruler above, whom Tadeuskund adores as 
we do." 

"Truly my life leans on that hand,- and my heart is 
warmed by the thought ; but when I place my hand 
here, xhe throbbing gives fear ; for it teHs me the Great 
Spirit is in wrath, and will not hear our cries. Hear 
how his thunder roars. Elluwia never feared the noisy- 
fire of the clouds, while she thought the Mannitto smiled 
on Tadeuskund ; but she trembles at the sound, in the 
knowledge of his anger," 

" He cannot be angry with Elluwia's protector," said 
Livingston, *' when he restores to her the best df fajhers, 
and hopes to my love." 

He uttered these last words so as to be heated by 
Elkiwia alone, who turned partly her face towards him, 
but avoiding to meet his eyes, answered — 

" Hopes have long ceased to paint my dreams with 
pleasing colours. I dread to sleep at night, for now qo 
21* 



•246 

sweet image ever sooths my mind in slumbers ; and 
while I wake, I can still drink forgetfulness of past days, 
as my hand gives cares to Tadeiiskand. But now," 
she continued in a lower voice to Livingston, " think, 
friend of the brare, that no word ought to awake the 
thoughts that must slumber in dreamless sleep." 

He dared not, be could not reply in such a moment, 
and therefore was compelled to defer to another hour 
the pleadings of his love, awaiting with anxiety tidings 
from Tadeuskund. Night was come, and almost con- 
stant obscurity succeeded to the uncertain, though un- 
interrupted light of the incessant lightning, which had 
previously illumed the plain and the mountains around. 
Now the rain no k)nger drenched the earth ; but the 
thick bed of clouds seemed rather to have accumulated 
than . exhausted its stores, and to bode another, more 
fearful storm. Now and then, a vivid flash of lightning 
poured instantaneous illumination over the darkened 
landscape ; and as the electrick light vanished, the aw- 
ful nothingness of darkness, bereaving the eye of a 
world of bright forms, that had shone, as if created at 
the time from nought, by the pouring flame of short- 
lived splendour, left in the mind of the beholder a shud- 
der of unwonted imaginings. 

The storm had cast sensations of painful glooni and 
dark presentiments in the soul of EUuwia ; the more 
ominous to her mind, as, at that season of the year, 
when such tempests of thunder are seldom expected or 
experienced, it seemed to her struck imagination, that 
it m\ist speak anger from above, and he the manifesta- 
tion of power, about to execute itj own decrees. The 
night was passing on, whilp no one, not even Conrad, 
had thought of seeking oblivion in slumber. A frozen 
silence had chilled their tongues -to the r6of of the 
avenues of their souls ; and all, as if their eyes could 
pierce through the distant paths of obscured air, invol- 
untarily fixed their glance upon that part of the plain, 
which each . supposed to be the spot, where Tadeas- 



247 

kund breathed amoDg tbe Lenape. Thus hours re- 
volved in the thrilliog paiigs of anxiety, tiU towards 
midnight, a distant speck of light 'was seen to peep 
among the tali pines in the vale. The fire, at first a 
spark, as it were, presently swelled out into a distinct 
flame, which seemed to bum on the banks^ of the Sus- 
quehanna. In a few moments, the blaze rose in high 
columns in the air, seemingly the efiect of a sudden 
conflagration ; but where and what, was uncertain ; al- 
though to all it appeared probable that it proceeded from 
the Indian village. 

They rose from their silent stations, and advanced to 
the brink of the rock, from which, in the day, a distinct 
view of the whole plain could be obtained. There was 
in the hearts of Livingston and EUuwia^ a certain sym- 
patbetick foreboding, which imparted a chill of horror 
to their trembling limbs. Livingston, who for a few 
hours had seen revived tbe dazzling illusions, in which 
his ardent imagination had long ceased to indulge, was 
now thrown back into that sea of cheerless glopm, 
through which the only prospect in view, waS a loathful 
life, spent in the . recollection of blighted hopes, and 
renewing, junassuag^-d sorrow* And still, nought as yet, 
save an uncertain flame in the obscurity before him, had 
given a defined cause for his dejection. On a sudden, 
Elluwia, vyl)o had advanced to the very peak of the 
ciiff, to observe the light with more fixed and earnest 
gaze, uttered a painful shriek, and would have fallen 
from the lofty brink, had not the strong arm of Living- 
ston caught her, as she sunk on her powerless feet. 

" O, say dear, perfect Elluwia, speak what new, ter- 
rifiick omen have you discovered in the darkened air i 
What unexpected sorrow swells your heart ? Pray 
leave me not in this perplexity." 

Elluwia, unable to leave the refuge which she had 
found in his arms, suddenly raised her head ; and her 
«yes i^ere once more fixed, as by a spell, upon, the 
melancholy flame in tbe west, while her pallid features, 



248 

made deathlike by the light of the renewing flashes.of 
fitful hghtningr^ spoke but one deep, stern thought, tiie 
accomplishment of wrath from above. 

Burton, hastening towards her at the startling sound 
of her cry, was holding her two bands pressed in his 
own, in a silence, which his gloomy conjectures did not 
permit him to interrupt, while his eye, turned towards 
heaven, spoke the wordless prayer of his soul. Conrad 
also had advanced, and noticing the immobility of her 
head, with the inclination of her eye towards the danc- 
ing flames, in the distant darkness, he hazarded to give 
such consolation, as the goodness of his heart suggested 
to his limited understanding. 

" My koot, young Miss Burton, be not afraid at that 
strange phenomenon, just like fire in the rifer. No, it 
is not fire. It is not tiie flame of goblins neither, in 
their night taoce, peliefe me, upon my wort of a ser- 
geant, in the service that was of kreat king Frederick 
of Prussia. In Shermany we call such fires irrtoiseh, 
and in Latin more properly, ignis fatuus^ that I hafe 
seen ten tousand times, and that they call in English, 
will-with-the-wisp or chackrwith-the-lantern. If it was 
not that no poty can efer catch it, i would run myself 
after the tespisable, httle, ugly fire, Miss Burton, and 
bring it to you in my hat, if it would stay, that is ; for 
it never burns, upon my kreat wort." 

EHuwia remained still in a motionless attitude, intent 
npon the flames, which, though distant, were seen dis- 
tinctly to rise and undulate over the pine lops in the 
plain* Her alarming immobihty seemed now to speak 
the despair of conviction, rathef t^an lingering doubts 
on the cause of the painful sight before 4jer. At last, 
she rose from the arms of Livingston, who accounted 
that moment, when her heartwas felt responding to the 
beatings of his heart, the first, perhaps the last happy 
sensation of his life. She then, turned suddenly her 
head from Wyoming, and tears began to flow in streams 
on her marble cheeks. But she could utter nothing but 



249 

these words, " Oh ! why forbid EHuwia to follow ? '* 
Her tears however gradually seemed to relieve the op- 
pression of her heart; and she turned once more to 
the plain. Instantly then did the shower from her eyes 
cease to flow ; but the chilling agony of her features, 
spoke deeper sorrow than tears. The blaze, for awhile, 
had seemed stationary in the. nightly gloom ; but pre- 
sently the flames rose far above the tallest trees, and 
asce«ding in the air, looked as if about to sail unfed 
and unguided through darkness, to mock the lightning 
from the cloud ; but seemingly exhausted by the effort, 
ihey suddenly after sunk into the cold sea of darkness 
and shivering dread. 

Elluwia shrieked with horror, and turning with fal- 
tering steps towards the cell, she covered her eyes with 
her hands, as if she sought to hide from her sight a 
spectacle of killing desolation. Her tears found a new 
passage on her cheeks ; and as her strength had aban- 
doned her limbs, she reached the entrance ef the cell, 
where her fadier, receiving her in his arms, placed her 
upon a seat. 

" It is, it is as the Trumpet of War had dreamt," said 
she then, " Ob ! ray eyes shall wither, and ray blood 
can never bring colour to my cheek. The Lenape will 
howl, and their cries will ring my heart till it feels no 
more. Oh ! Tadeuskund, Tadeuskund, my father's 
breath is risen." 

" How canst thou be assured of such afflicting news 
without greater assurance than the mere sight of a dis- 
tant fire f " said Burton, in a voice, which, in spite of 
his eflfort to inspire ^rmness, expressed but too well the 
anxiety and agitation of his taind. 

*^ Oh ! my knowledge deceives me not. His dream 
spoke like mine. The wrath of the Great Spirit is 
strong and clianges not. Hear ye the rolling of the 
thunder afar ? It roars with less noise, and silence will 
soon sleep heavily over our breasts, for the M annitto has 
spread his arm over bim ; and bis will once done, he 
turns from us." 



2S2 

among the distant bushes ^ then turned to the cell 
where he might have lasted the joys of repose, and 
paused a little while. But suddenly collecting all the 
energy of his faculties, he rushed headlong into the 
perils before him, and strided down with the speed 
which his prudence permitted him to employ, that he 
might not, by a faux pas^ frustrate the result of his, 
magnanimous resolution. At last, he rejoined his cap- 
tain, who, in his anxiety, began to hesitate whether h^ 
should return in search of his affectiop^ite Conrad. 

They easily reached the foot of the ridge, where the 
way, paved with rocks, was not materially impaired' by 
the storm ; but when in the plain, where small hillqcts 
and rills intersected at first the valley,.they advanced 
with increasing difficulty ; for the rain bad swelled the 
brooks into rivers, while ponds and little lakes of waters 
from the cloud, created for a short existence, arrested 
their course at every step. Livingston, assisting and. 
supporting the steps of his beloved guide, gave courage. 
by his firmness, and hastened their march by his 
strength. . In various places he was permitted to bear 
her across the brawling brooks ; and such a burden 
seemed to create a vigour, to inspire a confidence^ 
which rose as the obstacles became more numerous on, 
their way. . . 

As they passed through the lovely vale, not far' from, 
the highlands, they witnessed a sight which at any 
other moment might have attracted their attention. The 
little sequestered dale, now seldom illumined by the 
lightning, was lighted up, as it were, by myriads of fire-' 
flies, that sti:eaked the dingy air with luminous flashes 
in every direction, spreading around a dark splendour 
of unspeakable aspect. Their nightly gambols, as they 
rose from thjgir damp retreats^ rejo^cfhg at the subsiding 
of the storm, were not interrupted by the slightest 
breath of air,' so that they dared to wing their way 
among the $till trembling bougfis^pf the tpwering pines^ 
whose forms were faintly defined in the ocean of ob- 



253 

scurity iround, by their fitful, but incessant fires. Such 
a cloud of living sparks in the air, while deathlike si- 
lence reigned uninterrupted, even by the groans of th^ 
aky, might have recalled to the traveller the aspect of 
the blackened firmament, with its glittering gems, when 
viewed from the icy peak of the highest mountain of 
Switzerland ; but Livingston, as well as his companions, 
bad dived into thoughts and interests of a deeper, 
though more earthly nature. 

It was an hour at least, ere they reached the level 
plain, but still pursuing the usual path, lest they should 
fail to meet with the messengers or friends who might 
chance to come to them from the Lenape. Nor were they 
deceived in their expectation, for as they approached a 
thicket, bordering the level ground, they heard the steps 
of one who seemed to tread the damp soil with increas- 
ing haste ; and presently they saw the tall figure of an 
Indian, advancing near. Elluwia, first recognising 
Thurensera, rushed towards him, r,aising her torch over 
her head, that she might see his countenance. 

" Where is the Trumpet of War ? " she exclaimed, 
in the agonizing tones of one who has already a fatal 
conviction of the reality. " Speak ; Elluwia will hear. 
She is firm in despair ; and would rather wake in tears, 
than dream of ills unkown. Is the strength of the 
Lenape flown with the breath of Tadeuskund ? " 

Thurensera spoke not for a time^ but raised his hand 
before his face, which he bowed slowly to the earth ; 
then extending his arm from his lofty head, be said, 

** Daughter of the strong, ask me not of the cold 
storm that chills our hearts, for the silence of my tongue 
can speak." 

" Ob ! let a word of thought give me the knowledge 
of death. Say, Tadeuskund's breath is risen." 

'* His bones only can tell that he breathed.' Tadeu^* 
kund's heart beats no more." 

Elluwia made no other interrogation ; but ber lips, 
jast opened to speak, remained unclosed Her eye 
22 



U4 

attached to a certftin spot in the dark, vacant space h^ 
fore her, seemed to stare wiih hcrror on the very ob- 
ject which caused her sorrow. Her motionless form in 
the obscurity ill conquered by the quivering light of her 
torch, appeared like a statue expressing grief and agony 
in its speaking features, though cold and inanimate in its 
substance. Ere Thtirensera had spoken the fatal words, 
she had but too well read the truth on his dejected brow, 
but till she heard the dreaded, though soficited sounds, 
whidh announced the death of the king of the Lenape, 
she was still willing to deceive or to silence the sugges- 
tions formed by her own eyes ; but now, all that was 
great was taken from her, and she seemed spell-bound 
to the spot, where she had last received sustenance 
from the deluding draughts of hope. 

But her sensitive, her pure, her exalted mind was 
also energetick and strong. She no longer lived for 
herself; for she was wont to subsist and delight in the 
sole proud affection of Tadeuskund ; but her elevated 
soul, accustomed to drink no other joy, than that ol 
relieving the cares and ills of others, had once, and still 
associated with the thought of Tadeuskund^ the person 
and the heart of his preserver. On the day, when she 
lost her adopted father, she had found her true parent, 
whom she already loved, though he coiild not inspire 
the strength of 61ial tenderness which she had devot- 
ed to the royal, unfortunate Tadeuskund. These 
thoughts in a moment restored to her the energy and 
calmness of all her faculties ;; and her conlposed, 
though pallid features, a&sunoed an expression of firm- 
ness and resignation. 

** Thurensera," she said, " give full knowledge to my 
mind. EUuwia ' is now strong, and must bear. The 
friends of Taddusktmd need our care, and tread in 
dangerous darkness aropnd. TeJl me all, and think 
not of my tears, for I cannot weep." 

" Before my voice sounds long in the air, let me 
drown those fires in the brook," said Thurensera, as he 



255 

took the torches from the handa of Livingston and bis 
frtcads. He cast them into the stream rolling at his 
feet ^and thus, extinguishing the flames which might 
betray tbeir presence, he wrapped himself and the rest 
in total obscjurity ; then continuedi 

" Ears and eyes rove around us, and might turn to 
our path. My words will not be loud. I shall speak." 
He then paused for a time, seemingly. ooUecting his 
thoughts, and perchance to hearken for the noise of 
steps oD the withered leaves^ then proceeded in a low 
voice. 

^' Before thy mouth and that of our friend had given 
the news of strife to the Trumpet of War, the toma- 
l^awks were all raised on our land ; and the war-post 
was planted deeply in the ground. The warriors 
danced the battle dance. They howled for war, and 
.tbeir songs made the cowards bold. Wancomand, and • 
bis white frieods of the river of lakes, were pouring '. 
deceit in their ears, apd burning poison in their mpuths. 
When Tadeuskund returned to our fires, and showed 
his face to the crowd, they breathed low, and stopped 
their dance ; and they were ashamed, for no man's 
heart dared to beat stronger than his will. But though 
they spoke no word, yet rage fed their breath 5 and 
even revenge crept into the thoughts of many. They 
left the dance ground and the post, but turned not to 
their roofs They followed the lying prophet and lis- 
tened still to his ftongs from the dark spirit. But few, 
with Tburensera, staid to speak our knowledge to the 
kiug of the Lenape, He bad seemed strong to opr 
eye?, but when he poured the truth of his heart for our 
ears, we . knew that bis Spirit was faint. He loved his 
<ihi1dren and wc^pt. His grief was. a stealing stream, 
that caved unseen the soil from, the roots of the great 
tree. But the tree, to the lasti kept its head high t£»- 
wards the sky, and trembled not.- Tadeuskund wished 
to dive into the lake of forg^tfuln^ss ; and he. drank of 
the water of fire, tliat burut his knowledge away. Soon 



256 

did he sleep, bis last sleep ; for we left bim mth 04 
thougbts that daring fiends should creep in vengednce, 
and we slept in ignorance by our fires, tiU bowls ki tbe 
air sent away our dreams. We ran in darkness aad 
made a path through tbe crowd to tbe flames that 
brought daylight on the land, and found TadeHskund's 
roof was the night sun that lighted our way ; but our 
father's spirit was risen. His great arm was dust, and 
ashes slept over his bones." 

A sense of thrilling horror had crept into tbe hearts 
of the benighted hearers. But not a breath was heard 
in the calmness of night to speak the agitation of their 
souls. The air was still obscured by coadeased ctoods 
pregnant with damp stores of rain aod latent fires ; 
while the distant flashes, tinging with sombre pirr{de 
tbe huge heaps of the departing storm, and tbe k>w 
growls of the far rolling thunder, seemed to express 
discontent at being expelled by tbe advancing cloud. 
At last, EUuwia interrupted the tfailling silence, which 
no one seemed willing to break. 

" Who are the hateful fiends, who dared take by 
flames the sleeping strength of the Leoape." 

<^ The deed was done in the dark. Night suits the 
cowardly spirits.*' 

" It cannot be in tlie bosom of tbe basest w^irrior of 
the Lenape, that the thought found birth." 

" Speak in a lower voicej daughter of the strong. 
JEars are about us, and my arm could not crush all the 
enemies of thy friends. My heart tells me, thy fatli^s 
breath was not stolen by one of our warriors. Tbe 
Lenape shout revenge in the dark, and lay the deed on 
our white brothers of the praying land." 

" They are our friends, and had might only in Ta^ 
deuskund's arm and love. Is it not so ? " 

'^My thoughts are like thy words. L know the 
Lenape are made blind, and my mouth spoke thus 
aloud ; but their ears are deaf, and they will slake the 
thirst of vengeance in the blood of the whites. They 



257 

are now crawling in darkness, towards their fires ; and 
in the morn they will shout the hoop of death, and dull 
their tomahawks on the skulls of the white brothers of the 
praying land. I have heard their stealing steps around*" 

*' What are the lights I see glitter in the dark f " 

" They are the fires of the whites. They fear ; for 
they lost tlieir power, when thy father's spirit rose. 
They are met under the same roofs, and wake in 
fears." 

" 1 had hoped to find among them a shelter for the 
heads of these white friends ; but the thought Was a 
dream. We must then turn back to the mountain be- 
fore the sun gives light. Will Thurensera follow f " 

" Thurensera was hastening in darkness to draw thee 
and friends from the snare. Wancomand knows 

che m . of the prey. He sent ten warriors to the 
cave (A the mountain top." 

" Oh ! my breath is made too heavy. The anger of 
the Great Spirit is felt. But Elluwia's heart will never 
faint. The skiflf, if not abandoned to the wave, may 
pass the falling waters of the great river. Lead our 
steps, Thurensera, lead us to the banks of the Susque- 
hanna." 

" The daughter of the Trumpet of War is strong^ in 
thought, and in heart. I will lead ; for it is the only 
path that may take thy friends to their land." 

He instantly took Elluwia and Livingston by the 
hand, and endeavoured to proceed with speed ; but it 
was an arduous and doubtful task, for as the dark cloud 
not only hid every constellation, hut concealed the faint- 
est light from above, he had no other polar star, for a 
time, than the distant fires of the Connecticut settlers 
glimmering among the trees. But when they lost sight 
of those fires, the obscurity in which they were .wrapt 
rendered their progress uncertain and dangerous. They 
were somewhat guided, however, after a time, by re- 
newing flashes of lightning ; and Thurensera several 
rimes recognised, by the transitory light, (lie objects 
22* 



258 

around, which might enable him to guide bis friends in 
the proper direction. On a sudden he stopped, as if 
electrified by th^ lightning which had that moment 
glared before his eye. Pressing with energy the handa 
of his friends, which he still held in his own, he inti- 
mated impending danger, and the necessity of preserv- 
ing strict silence. They lent an attentive ear, but no 
sound was discerned, save the rolling of a neighbouring 
brook. 

Meanwhile, Thurensera continued motionless and 
seemed to have received his impression of peril rather 
from his eye than from bis ear, for he thus remained, tiH 
another flash should illumine the forest around. At last 
the ligbming came and offered to the eyes of the fugi- 
tives the tall figures of ten or twelve Indians slowly 
advancing towards them. Thurensera, with the rest, in- 
stantly turned to the opposite direction, but another 
flash glimmering over their heads shewed them another 
party of savages, cautiously moving, evidently in pur- 
suit of them. Thurensera then, as if by an instanta* 
neous impulse, left the hands of his friends, having 
enjoined on them silence and immobility ; rushed forth 
in the dark, and spoke aloud to the nightly party of 
Indians, 

" Brothers of the Lenape, know ye not Thurensera ? 
Why run thus on my path. The right arm of the 
strong, with Elluwia, is returning to our fires. We are 
no fnes of the brave. Turn, ye fools, turn to a truer 
game ; and cleg no more our way." 

No answer was given, but the noise of the steps on 
the sod told the fugitives that they were surrounded on 
every side by approaching Indians. Thurensera, in the 
meanwhile, perceiving that his stratagem had failed, 
recoiled slowly towards Livingston, and taking his arm, 
urged him suddenly towards the stream, with a hope of 
thus escaping from the eye and the ear of the enemy ; 
hut this also was in vain, for hardly had they advanced 
three steps, before Livingston was arrested by tb» 



259 

hands of several Indians, who, feeling his European 
garments recognised him at once for a foe, and shouted 
a terrifick yell, to which 'others responded in varioas 
directions. In a moment, the whole forest resounded 
with the exulting cries of the enraged Lenape. A 
thousand hands seemed to be laid upon our hero, who, 
unable to offer the least resistance, found himself raised 
from the ground, and borne by the furious tide of 
hooping Indians, who instantly moved as it seemed 
irom the brook. No injury, however, was offered to 
his person ; but in such a moment, when the anguish of 
the soul might have silenced the agonies suffered by the 
body, but one thought, one pang had a sway over his 
half-distracted mind, — Where was his Elluwia ? And 
roust he die without one last glance on her heavenly 
face ? But all the events of the day and the present 
moment were to him like a dream, where gloom and 
horror were blended with the noblest images and the 
most pleasing hopes. 

After a while, as he looked before him, he perceived 
a light in the air, not a fiame, nor the glimmering of a 
common fire in a hut ; but the far illuminating light of 
an unseen conflagration. As his captors advanced, 
guided by the luminousness, he became more and mere 
convinced, that it must proceed from the still burning 
ruins of Tadeuskund's dwelling, and that they had 
reached the entrance of the Indian village. Presently, 
be traced from the shade the half defined forms of the 
huts, and of the tall, lofty trees, that reclined their 
drooping branches over the ashes and funeral pile of 
the last king of the Lenape. When brought near the 
fatal scene, Livfngston, even at that moment of dejec- 
tion was struck with the imposing gloom of the scene. 
A vast heap of coals, and smoking beams, lay in a 
vaster heap of sleeping ashes and dying embers, on the 
soil, which, a few hours before still resounded under 
the steps of Tadeuskund. The lurid tinge of red cast 
upon the leaves and the trunks of the old satellites of 



260 

the king's roof, looked like blood exuding from their 
vegetable pores, as if the order of nature were changed 
in the valley, that wept for the noblest being who ever 
breathed there. 

Arrived before the consuming remains, the Indians 
uttered another yell, which resounded afar on the banks 
of the Susquehanna. Livingston, in his grief, was 
pleased to see that Burton and his faithful Conrad had 
been brought unhurt by the band ; nay. Burton had 
merely followed, for he was free, and advanced to give 
consolation to his young friend ; but several Indians 
sternly interposed and forbid intercourse between them. 
The air rung with clamours in various parts of the 
plain, and in the confusion and din nothing could be 
distinguished but the expressions of rage and lamema^ 
tion. The reports of muskets and rifles fired about the 
darkened plain were heard incessantly to add more ter- 
ror to the shouts and the low muttering of the thunder. 

Among the forms and countenances of the numerous 
throng around him, Livingston strove in vain to discover 
those of Elluwia, nor could he see there his friend 
Thurensera. Had they both abandoned him ? The 
thougl^t of her oblivion (though it could but be mo- 
mf^ntary) was far more distressing to him than the 
pro«!pect of tortures and of death, which might be in- 
flicted by the many tomahawks then hovering over his 
head. But instant death was not designed by the fiends. 
They tied Livingston's arms and feet, as well as those 
of Conrad, to the very posts which had been lately 
erected as ensigns of war to the whites ; and then the 
weary crowd began slowly to disperse. 

But before the greatest part of the warriors were 
retired to rest, a distant shout was once more heard in 
the east. The clamours called the attention of many, 
who hastened to that part of the plain from which it 
proceeded. It was not long ere they returned with 
other warriors, who led with them three white captives, 
and brought barrels and casks, which proved to be filled 



361 

with the bane of Indians, rum and other intoxicating 
liquors. It seeine^ that they had plundered a lonely- 
dwelling, which the Connecticut settlers had employed 
of late as a store-bouse for their infant colony ; and 
while they seized upon its contents, had taken prisoners* 
its defenceless tenants. The barrels were instantly 
opened, and ' while the fatal liquor was profusely distri- 
buted around, the prisoners were bound to other stakes, 
and guards were placed before each, but not without 
being provided with large gourds of rum. In a few 
minutes, the effects of the drink were visible on those 
deluded, incautious savages ; for by their dances, con-^ 
tortious^ and laughter, they showed that the drowsy 
oblivion of good and ill was rapidly obtaining a full 
empire over them. The frenzy of intoxication, how- 
ever, proved fatal to one of the wretched captives of 
the new colony. Several Indians, in their drunken 
rage, approached them, brandishing their tomahawks 
over their beads, with horrible attitudes and threats ; at 
last one of them executed his menace, and slew the 
youngest captive ; but the crowd, still provident in their 
cruelty, and unwilling to lose the spectacle of torture, 
which their victims were to suffer on the morrow, rush- 
ed around him, and prevented his arm from accomplish- 
ing further slaughter. 

Gradually the influence of the intoxicating draughts 
was made more evident by the drowsiness which by 
degrees succeeded to the fits of blustering excitement 
among the warriors of the Lenape. One by one they 
were seen to turn and reel, and at last terminate their 
veering course, by prostrating thei» helpless hmbs on 
the dizzy soil. Thus we have seen the- fishermen, hav- 
ing poisoned the waters of a lake with the narcotick 
seed of the East, watch on shore the effects of the 
bane. The tenants of the waters are seen swimming 
round with a disabled fin, and turning their agonizing 
beads, now to the surface of the lake, now diving into^ 
the deepest recesses of their abode ; and at last, impo- 
tent, ^rising to the top, and panting away the remains of 



2&2 

sensibility aad life. It was nearly so that Liviagstoa 
saw bis wretched captors fall into a deathlike sleep. 
Although some seemed longer to resist the influence of 
the fluid on their brains, they were all seen at last to 
seek on the ground for a stability which could no longer 
be found on their feet. 



CHAPTER XV. 

The torch-li^fat beams on her pallid brow* 

Like sunset illuming a wreath of snow, 

And tinges the' waves of lier sable hair, 

With a strangely bright and unearthly glare;— 

One hand is laid on her wounded breast, 

And one on her kneeling lover's prest, 

While the holy flash of her dying eye, 

Tells that visions of glory are hovering nigh'. 

Oh ! rose of the wildteraees! fell was the blaM, 

That the blight of death o*er thy beauties c.asV ' ' 

The royal tree it crushed to the dust, 

Witb the flower *neath its sheltering branches norst I 

The long, long moments spent by Livingston in that 
anguish ojf solicitude, when one^ before the jaws of 
death, is bereft of the sight and tbe hope of beholding 
thQse held most dear, were made more painful to big 
feelings by the notes of regret and lamentation of bis 
fellow captives. The youngest, a boy of fiourteen or 
fifteen, filled tbe air with his rain bewailings, as hs 
looked to his old companion, perchance his &ther^ wtio^ 
in the sternness of old age, answered to the compiaiats 
of his young friend with religious consolation and adr 
vice, which the frailty of human fortitude permitted 
him to interrupt with occa^iontl complaintis of Jiis own. 
Meanwhile, oui^ good, artless,, faithful Conrad, destined 
to share tbe miafoi'tUQes of LiviDgston, could not refrain 
{rom lamentations on his calamities; and ^ more than 
once called in his grief for **MisB Elluwia*" whose 
kind interpositiem, he doubted not, might alleviate, if 
not remove the pains of captivity from his, ." bek^vcui 
eaptain^ and bis inconsiderable self." 



263 

• But EUuwia appeared not. The very sounds of her 
melodious voice might have charmed the horror of her 
lover's fetters ; but he had now nearly lost that consol* 
iQg hope ; for if she were free^ or still breathed, he 
was assured the idol of bis admiration and love would 
be there. Was she also enslaved by the altered, ungrate- 
ful subjects of her late royal protector f The thought 
of her suffering and oppression was distracting to his 
mind ; and yet that conjecture seemed more probable 
than the thought that she was still roving in the obscu- 
rity of the forest. Burton also was absent ; it was 
long sbce be disappeared in the crowd* In a word, 
Livingston's sensations were of the gloomiest nature ; 
abandoned, as it were, by the world, for she alone was 
a world to him, his thoughts had ceased to flow in a 
regular course ; and all around him and within was felt 
like a confused return of .the delirium, which once dis- 
tracted his mind. 

All was nearly silent now. The Indian warriors had, 
one after another, yielded to the irresistible influence of 
the liquor ; and each slept or lay torpid by bis musket or 
tomahawk, which, by an instinct natural to savages 
their hand had. grasped to the last. The young captive 
had dunk under the weight of fatigue and sorrow, and 
DOW reclined in his bonds in a state of apparent insen- 
sibility. Meanwhile, the last cloud which had distribut- 
ed its liquid riches on the earth, bad nearly extinguished 
the still smoking ruins of the conflagration ; and now 
the scene around was but slightly illumined by a faint 
greyish light which gave a dreamlike cast to all that 
Livingston's eye could discern. 

It was in that listless sllite that he saw, or imagined that 
fae saw EUuwia, followed by Burton, Tburensera, and 
two warriors, cautiously advancing towards him, among 
the prostrate bodies of his guards. EUuwia held a 
sword in her band, and seemed to guide and direct 
those who foUowed. Her countenance and her form, 
in that light, had no longer the appearance of a terres- 
trial being ; like a superior spirit, she seemed in her 



264 

elevated movements to command, and to opmmand liitb 
power, an enterprise of high import. When she cam^ 
near the asbes of her father's booes, she stopped, and 
her attendants stopped in respeetful acquiescence ; shm 
looked for a time fixedly on the dusky, embers, as if tQ 
seek for a bony relick of the hero ; then slowly bowed 
her pallid, but calm brow to the pile, and having raised 
her stately head above, without a tear or an earthly 
ngn, she twice waved down her glittering sword to the 
royal remains ; when like ooe, wbo, unimpassioned, 
wills unchangeably the accomplishment of a gremt de» 
sign, she continued her progress towards the captives. 

Livingston, transported, ceased to think reality a 
dream, when he felt that hand, which he adored, press* 
ed on bis arm, while Eliuwia, with her swond deliber- 
ately divided the bonds which held bim $o the stake. 
She spoke not, sipiled bot^ nor did ber composed 
features betray the slightest shade of human fear or 
doubt ; but with a sign of her b§nd» she ordered the 
liberation of the rest, while she turned to lead them 
away. The whole w^s done in jthe stern, awful silence 
which throws into hearts <i deeper cbilL than the djp of 
dangers and war ; and wnile the captives were &eed 
from the fetters of death, as it were, they nU, except 
Livingston, seemed to doubt whether tbey received a 
blessing or other chains. 

The fugitives, guided by EUuwia, wcore on the point 
of leaving the scene of havock and Jntoxicatbn, when 
one of the Indians who had long lain senseless on the 
ground, having probably cast off in a measure the in- 
nuence of the liquor, half rose from his damp couch $ 
and in bis wild, confused suspicions, betwixt sleeping 
and waking, began to howl horribly to his companioes* 
But as he strove to gain an upright . posture, be feU; 
back exhausted by the toil, aud even ceased to utter 
cries, sinking instantly in his dri)nken torpidity^. Hia 
clamours, however, bad roused mapyfrom tbcir torpor; 
and several, less inebriated, succeeded., as they filled 
the air with their yells, to rise on their feet* ^ut while 



266 

thfey adt«tif?ed xvith tottefiug, uncertain steps, ElliUvia, 
With undaunted self-possession, pointed to the paih 
where safety could be found, and, \n reality, had by 
"filr anticipated the speed of the reeling pursuers. Liv- 
irtgsfon and the rest of his companions, ere they fled, 
seized upon the arms of their guards ; that precaution, 
suggested by the herbick EHdTvla, was perhaps so far 
the greatest cause of their fortunate escape, for they 
thus bereft those savages, lels subdued by the liquot 
than the resft, of the means to feertd a shower of balls 
after the fiigitlves. Meantime, those of the warriors pro- 
vided with arms, in theirimpolence to pursue their evad- 
iifg captives, fired incessantly their muskets at random 
towards the Susquehanna, where Elluwia guided her 
friends. The hissing balls were now and then heard 
10 the air, as they mowed in their course a harvest of 
liWe twigs and branches of the trees ; but no Indian, 
tt seemed, had succeeded in following the pai-ty through 
the dark thicket which they were now traversing with 
increasing speed. 

On a sudden, as the report of a musket heavily 
loaded was heard in the' rear, Elhiwia. who then walk- 
ed near Livingston, uttered an eitclamation, which 
sounded like a faint scream, and she stopped, resting 
her band upon the stump of a tree before her. Liv- 
ingston, terrified with alarm, rushed near ; and as he 
pressed her hand, inquired in a faultering voice of the 
cAuse of the sudden shock which she had felt. Elluwia 
tvas now seemingly calm and unmoved. She answered, 

** EHuwta has now no ill to fear for herself. The( 
friend of the brave is saved* I breathe without a 
weight. But let us speed while the path is still dark." 

And she advanced, continuing to lead the party 
through tbe Wood. The alarm which Livingston had 
lelt subsided now; but left in his mind a certain sense 
6f anxiety, which h^ could not define or explain to 
himself. Elluwia, who, with the intrepidity of a hero, 
^atl coofronred so many dangers, could not on a sudden 
23 



see 

be stanieri by the dtHanf mmai ot « teuffeel, xmi^s 
some other unknown cause, than vonatura} tifttiitily, lu^ 
Mnderedtbat sound peculiarly paiiiffil 10 Her efur,. Her 
cbaraeter, bar life, bar actions bad inqpiied J«ii¥iKi^b 
the most enhed adoiuratioo. 1^ ae^ai^ to Mip ^M 
m spiritoa} beiAg whose love ibt bim ibeWd^ dufed 4o 
«tfn to faimself, lest that > thought nboold take ifim the 
exeeUenee, which raised her abave tba reat. 0atia 
the cousoiousness of her virHiea, of bar beee^ta, aod 
cff her presence, be might have acoeptad with joy the 
euviable task of serving her, ibrougb a long life) witboQt 
greater reward than that priiii)rge aloeOj had Dot ao i»- 
descrtbable sense of solicitude and depression blasted 
his hopes as they seemed to be realized. 

A few steps farther, they reached the edge of the 
>ood, aod,*fouad tbemselvea oa the banks of the Sua- 
quebanna, whose waters reflecting the struggliiig raya.of 

^iigbt, from die stiH troubled sky, sl^(faily tinged die 
obj<ects around with the faint gUnGiaiering of a starless 
night. All was now calm near the stream. The 
clamo«^s and ' firing c^ the Indians bad ceased, for 
probably they were once more amik m the torpor of 
the dfoi^y drtolc } whilst tbetr bofeteious shouts and 
tumult, too often repeated through ^le o^t to be 
notieidd by the mere peacefid warrtora^ had q<^ at* 
tracted their particular notice. Tburanaera adv^e^ed 
to the brink of the slream, and while the rest an^ited 
in silence, placing bis hands before bia^faco, in a ci- 
tato #ay, be fertned a sound wkh bia naouth, icoitatiiig 
the hooting of an owL Hardly bad the note been re- 
peated by the echo feom tbe o|taer baak, ere it was an- 
swered by a similar sound from tbe edge<of th^.iiii^r 
at his feet ; and presently tim fi^es of two InKiians 
ap|)eared, who, having exebanged zftm ^orda VtiA 

^Thurensera, ifistantly returned to their post betoar. 

^ Then the Right Ardi of the TmiHqit^ of War said to 
Ellu^ia, , . 

*' The canoes have bean drawn from tbe atrand, and 



«6t 

A^ep n6Woif (he bteatt of ^ Siisqvefaaoiia. The 
night is 'shbrt.^ ' 

' Elluwia, Withoat r^lyin;^ raised ber band towards 
the dusfy ^aV^' ol'lfae^ream, turned once more to 
the uhsei^n ^afn, and led biH* friieiids to Cbe shore. She 
stepped in the first sktff alode ; bat exhausted by the 
toils and <:dfes f>f the' day, she sunk on the seat, and 
was on the point of falling: on the edge of' the vessel, 
'had not Livingston supported her drooping form*. Pre- 
sently, however, she seemed to recover ber vigour with 
her voice, and once more resumed her direction of the 
flight. She placed Burton by her side,. called in Liv- 
ingston and the rejoicing Gonrad ; and left to Tburen- 
sera ttie steering of that skiff; while the rest of the party 
were directed to take possesstoo of the other ; for the , 
two New England captives bad not been forgptteik Iqr 
their guardiaa angel. 

The river tvas swelled somewhat abovis its ordiaafy 
limits, and rolled its accelerated' waves with that sound 
peculiar to the subsiding of a storm, when the at^ry 
waves rush swiftly away towards the gr#at ooeao that 
gave them birth. The two sktfs were both prepared, 
iind the signal for departure about to be giveo by Elki- 
"wia, when collecting herself die spoke in a low voice to 
Thurensera, who iiistamly rose, and prepared |o oiffi^r 
a prayer above^ 

He took some tobacco vhicb be elevated in his 
palm, high above his head ; then throwii^ it around m 
the air, so as to sprinkle the waves with the broken 
leaves, he strove thns to propitiate the Divinity ; 

^^ Great Spirit of troubled waters, kowa not upoatby 
red children who now cry tby waves. We have ever 
believed in tby mrglil, a»d fed tby love with our gifts. 
We would,, rather than mnoke of the friendly leaves, 
strew them on thy breast. Thus wa show that thy lov» 
and the fear of thee is great in us. We will draw in 
our canoes the band that binds us to our own land ; and 
trust ro the silence of thy voice." 

As soon as he had ended his invocation, the bands 



368 

that held the skifis were loosened, and in an instant 
tbry were launched in the rapid current of the strean)* 
Tiie canoesy steered by skilful hands, shot down witb 
wonderful swiftness ; and seemed like swallows to 
skim the surface of the water in their etherial cpurse^ 
rather than receive their impulse from the watery ele- 
ment below. No torch had been lighted at first, lest tbi? 
light might betray the direction of their flight ; and an 
unbroken silence reigned for a time in the two fugitive 
parties. Burton, so much oppressed by the mounnfal 
events of the past day, could not utter the slightest 
^und. His admiration for his daughter was perhaps 
as great as that of Livingston. She alone had con- 
ceived and conducted the plan of escape ^ she ha4 
^aved from certain death his fellow creatures, hi» 
friend, and perchance himself; sfor his life was threats- 
, ened by the distracted Indians. Her great presence of 
, tmind, her fortitqde, and the Just-discovered ties «rbich 
bound hex DQore closely to bis heart, had inspired hira 
with a respect, whjch^ thoqgh less romantick, less un- 
earthly than that of Livingstones, was equally strong 
and as difficult to express* As he pressed her band ia 
bis he felt a thrilling qhill, for it was coTd ; and but 
fainUy answered the pressure of his own. But such 
was the e^ihaustion of bis faculties, and the weight of 
bis sorrow, that. if he could, he would not hav^ dared 
to give more sway to the fear which now assailed bis 
heart. Livingston's sensations were nearly the same at 
that moment ; and while it seemed he might have cause 
to rejoice, he was absorbed, enthralled by one sole 
thought, the silence of Elluwia ; and could not regain 
greater power over himself than to listen in a frozen 
. immobility to the faint, but irregular sounds of her 
breath. 

Presently the motions of the skiffs, and the roaring 
noise of rapid waves before them, informed the fugitives 
that they approached the falls of the Susquehanna, 
whose bed is there narrowed by enormous rocks. The 
Indians redoubled their eare and activity, a$ they ad-^ 



2i» 

vanced among the bubbling billows of the stream^ 
though seemingly not apprehensive of great dangers. 
But the passage through such terrifick falls of water, 
roaring as the thunder among the clifis, in skiffs so light 
and so frail, was rendered more fearful by the shades 
.which the sun had liot begun to dispel. They pa6sed 
those rapids in safety, however, and gradually the noise 
and the foamy spray of the rippling pass became less 
and less audible, till the water and the air were once 
more calm and silent. 

It was then, that Thurensera, by tneans of bis fire- 
lock*, obtained a flame, with which he kindled torches, 
that now could not be seen by the enemies of the 
whites. The glare produced by these many lights 
made a dazzling contrast with the previous darkness ; 
and the resinous flambeaux burning with fitful splen- 
dour, whilst they shed volupses of heavy smoke along 
with their brilliant light, gave at first but little power to 
the eye to distinguish the objects around. But whea 
the sudden illumination ceased, by its new brightness 
to blind the sight, Livingston, whose eye hajj instantly 
been turned towards Elluwia, began to discern her 
features, and he shuddered when he saw. the mortal 
paleness which shrouded her face. Even her lips had 
lost their living red, and were defined only by a blueish 
tinge. Distracted by the sight and the thoughts which 
rushed into his mind, he rose simultaneously, as the 
dreadful conjecture was formed, but the powerful hand 
of Thurensera, seizing his arm as he moved thought- 
lessly forward, reminded him of his imprudence. Even 
then tlie light skiff was on the point of being overturned 
in the vacillations occasioned by his movement and bjr 
his upright position. He saw at once the peril to 
which he had exposed the object of his solicitude ; he 
trembled, unmindful of himself, at the thought; and as he 
si )wly resumed his former situation, the cano^ gradual- 
ly recovered its dormant stillness on the breast of the 
blackened stream. 
23* 



270 

But the tortures of his anriety, grown imolerabfe, 
permitted him no longer to piotract this extruciatidg 
silence. 

'^Heavens ! " exclaimed he, ^* ^bat unkoown Ulneas 
fiends the life-blood from your cheeks ? Elluwia, jmi 
are pale, you are languid. O ! «peak ; and say thai 
fatigue, that sorrow alone oppress you i '' 

Elluwia could not utter an ansfver ; but she stMre (b 
smile, and her effort prcfdui^ed only a alight vikratioB «f 
her lips, wi(h a faint sound, like tba transitory breath c^ 
the wind, sighing its dying symphony on the trembling 
chords of the Eolias . harp ^ wbeii the heart-ibfUJiog 
sounjds wake in the aoul such fancies of -ttneapthly' 
choirs^ in the air unseen, revealiag to us in notes bT 
higher spheres the existence of imfflOiiftal spirits, com^ 
muning with the undying spirit witUn u9. Barton, 
whose apprehensions w^ere increased by the^rooVem^at 
and solicitous expressions of Livingston, was Iktw coa^ 
vinced that she endeavaured to conceal the attack of 
some alarming indisposition. He at last obtained 
strenie;th to speak, 

" My daughter, thy father cannot live in this incerti- 
tude. If thou art too ill to express thy pain, tetl us bjr 
kigns the cause of our alarm." 

Elluwia seemed now to collect all her energies, oncm 
more to^ subdue the weakness of nature ; and her mind 
resumed its empire over her faculties. She spoke, but 
in an altered voices 

•' ph ! when the spirit aches, the body feels no pain. 
When it rejoices, it drowns the anguish of the flesh. 
My spirit is now In peace, and Uie body shall soon 
share its rest.'' 

She uttered these last words with an angelical ex-* 
pression of calmness, which might have relieved th^ 
oppressing anxiety of her two friends, had not a slight 
elevation of her eye expressed something of the course 
of her thoughts. She paused to take breath {tot her 
respiration viias short), and continued-^ 

" Friend of the good, my only father, thy life is in 



in 

Hanger no roof^; &nd the friend of tlie brave shall 
Jive to grte strength to thy steps, instead of Elluwia." 

** Instead of Elluwia ! " cried Livingston and Burton 
simuhaneousty. •* What dreadful n>isfortune awaits «s 
still ? " continued Livingston, in the suppressed voice 
of anguish. But she faintly waved her hand, to signify 
that she wished to proceed ; and he instantly stopped 
ia the breathless attention of the prisoner at the bar^ 
when bis doom is aboift to be read. 

**My heart is gladdened, for my father atid my 
friend are in safety^ while my breath can still hail the 
thought. My eye has just seen a light near yon rock ; 
it is the fire of a. band of friendly whites. There 
TborenSQfa will land our cadioes. Then Elluwia will 
lean for strength on the arm of the Great Spirit.** 

AH eyes were involuntarily turned to the ro^k (ex- 
cept those of Livingston, which remained fixed upon 
the exalted features of Elluwia), and they knew at 
once that she was not deceived in her observations. The 
fire had indeed been lighted by a party of foresters, 
who slept around the burning pile on the strand* 
Thorensera, following ttie direction given by her, whom 
he looked tip to as the daughter of Tadeuskund, in- 
stantly turned his canoe tow*ards that spot ; and the 
ricMF swiftly obeyed the impulse given by bis oar. At 
that moment the fcrgitives were alarmed by a despairing 
exclamation ottered by Livingston. He had foond 
means to approach the feet of Elluwia, and now sup<« 
ported her in his arm^ which received her, as she fell 
senseless from her seat. The torches were just then 
extinguished, and in the obscurity which surrounded 
them, her dismayed friends were unable to discover the 
cause or to administer relief to her insensibility, before 
they reached the banks of the stream. 

These moments of suspense were hours of torments 
and horror to Burton and the wretched Livingston. 
Gtiided on the dark, fiquid plain, by the fire on the shore, 
they counted every rippfiiig wave which in its reflection 
marked in a long train of trembling scales, the directioa 



278 

and the distance of their nighty course ; and though 
-they advanced with the rapidity of an arrow, yet a 
cotisiderabie interval elapsed in that anguish of silent 
anxiety, before the canoes rached the bank. 

As soon tbey touched the desired land, Livingston, 
risffig with the still ntotionless Elluwia in his arms, 
leaped on shore, and carried her towards the fire^ 
while Burton and Conrad, unable to equal the swiftness 
of his course, hastened to the spot, where they might 
learn tlie ill that bad befallen their deliverer. In a 
nion^ent, the awakened foresters, lighted torches, and 
surrounded the place where Livingston had borne the 
tody of Elluwia. She had begun to breathe, but with a 
certain sound which cast horrible conviction in the heatt 
of Livingston, whose accustomed ear at once recogniseij 
the cause of that fatal symptom. She lay motionle^ 
on his knees, incapable of utterance, or of a voluntary 
sign of returning life, .Meanwhile, Burton, breathless, 
arrived, and throwing himself at her feet, called, whh 
the voice of a father, for help for his apparently expir^ 
ing daughter ; then seizing a torch in his quivering 
band, he cast a ghastly look on her face, pressed her 
4^old bands in his own, called Elluwia, and repeated 
the invocation ; now passed his fingers distractedly over 
bis hairless brow, now over her forehead and face, and 
then cried loudly for a cup pf water for his child. 

On a sudden he raised the mantle which still shroud- 
ed her breast, and having cast his eye on the bosom of 
his Elluwia j he uttered a groan and fell motionless bn 
the sand. The garment being thrown from her breast 
discovered a wound, which, penetrating through the 
lower part of her neck, had been instantly closed, .as it 
often happens, with the effusion of only a few drops of 
btpod. Thurensera, whose grief was shown by no 
other sign than a streak of blood on the margin of bis 
lip, discovered tlie presence of mind which had failed 
the two warqn.est friends of Elluwia. He ran to the 
river, and bringing water in his hands dashed it on her 
fac^ and neck, then placed her in a less bending 



373 

lituatiOB, that she might be permitted more fceely to 
breathy. The shock produced by the cold liquid res** 
tored her io a moment the use of her senses. She 
opened h^r eyes once more to the light, and even 
^lightly raised her head, seeking for Burton, who began 
himself to recover a sense of his sorrow and of hi« 
existence* As soon as she met his eye. she spoke in ft 
clearer voice than her hregular, oppressed breathing 
would have previously promised. 

*' Weep not, father, for Elluwia ! She suffers no 
pajn, and her mind is gla<^* Her spirit could not stay j 
but as it rises to the land where Tadeuskund dwells, it 
iijrill look back and smile in the remembrance of so kind 
H father here. Before I sleep the last on this our land, 
J wish thy hand to join with mine ; though I feel it not^ 
my eye can yet welcome thy farewell," 

Burton^ speechless, with a distracted look, obeyed 
the request of his daughter, and he pressed in his own 
the hands that no longer could return the parental 
Krasp. Meanwhile, she strove to gather all her powers 
to continue to speak, and she said to Livingston,^ 

"And thou, triend of the brave, must give the part- 
ing grasp to piy hand. I feel no more the beating of ~ 
my heart ; and if was there that thoughts of thee were 
warmed, but the flame rises with my spirit, and my last 
breath shall be heaved with no other thought." 

Livingston, by the last harmony of her' voice, recov- 
ered, for a time, an empire over himself; he seized 
her hand ; but at that moment seemed abont to expire 
jn the agonies of his grief. He had lost all, and hoped 
for nothing here, when he saw the sole idol of his affec- 
tion and admiration, thus taken from him, and for him. 
He had never felt love, nor longed after its impassioned 
emotions, for no being had realized in his mind the 
bright unearthly dreams of virtue, disiriterestedness, and 
elevation,, vvhifh he wished to find in the female charac- 
ter, till he knew her, ** in whom he had garnered up 
his heart." And now, when he had met with the ob 
jeqt, which, in bis most aspiring visions of the future- 



274 • 

he had Dever hoped to find, bis heart would hare hursi 
had not the divine flame, which still watered oa Elfu- 
wia^s brow, silenced the gust of despair, as the eddying 
waves of the tempest are oft becalmed in the very 
conflict of the fiercest winds* She then continued* 
addressing Livingston and Burton, 

'^ 1 have heard the first chirps of th^ red-breasted 
bird, and the sun has begun to dye the edge of air with 
welcome light. Welcome indeed ; for your lives are 
Dpw in no danger from the red man's wrath, and my 
spirit longs to ri«e,.that my eye, from higher land, maj 
follow your steps and rejoice.'* 

^ No, no," cried Livingston in a brolsenj distracted 
voice. " Hope not to see. me live if you must abandoa 
us; I shall die before you. O! angel of purity, tell 
me, that there are hopes left to us that you will live ; but 
think it not possible that I can survive heV, who twice 
!9aved me from death, for whom alone 1 exist. No ! let 
me not live as the murderer of all that is dear and 
lovely on earth. You, so kind, so just, dear, suffering 
martyr, you could not wish me to drag such a guilty,, 
torturing existence.'* 

" Friend of the . strong.** replied Ellu wia with a^ 
energy almost supernatural when so near dissolution^ 
*' Ije strong like him who loved thee. He would have 
died to save Elluwia's breath ; but had she left this 
land before him, he would have lived, the pride of he^* 
'spirit abovb. Be strong, and store in thy remembrance, 
that courage dwells not so much in scorn of death as 
in the strength of the will against pain. Tq die for 
fear of pain is weakness. Thou wilt not die, for thou 
art the friend of the brave. Thou hast oft breathed 
thoughts of gratitude to Ellu wia, and vowed' obedience 
to her will; now she calls remembranp6, and com- 
mands thee to live. Know that her si3irit will rise in 
grief, and be borne oh clouds of shame to the land 
where Tadeuskund awaits thee, if, ere my ear hears 
no-more, thou wilt not raise thy hand above in hiffi of 
^rue will to obey." 



215 

She spokd these last wards with such an inspiratioo, 
aud unearthly force, that LiviDgston, as if submitted to 
the dictates of a divinity, fell once more on his knees, 
and devoutly raised his hand as she wished. The 
darkened scene around this inspiring female, as she 
Was on the point of breathing the last sigh of the 
brightest and purest life, was too touching for faumah 
pencils to describe. The gloomy, wavering light of 
the torches discovered the pale features of Elluwia, 
who, satisfied with the silent promise of Livingston, had 
closed her eyes with the faint shadow of a smile, but 
who had not ceased to breathe. At her feet, by the 
side of her kneeling lover, Burtb/^'also kneh, and bid 
his face in his hands ; whilst the ^simple,, but feeling 
Conrad, lying on the sand, had thrown bdck his head^in 
despair, and made the air ring with heart^stirring sobs. 
The sombre sorrow of Thurensera, and liis dingy 
brothers, though silept, was no less expressive than the 
lamentations of the wild foresters around. They all 
stood with grief painted on their rude countenances, aft 
they gazed on the beautiful form of the expiring female. 
Some, acquainted with her name and viitues, recounted 
to the rest the many instances of kindness, firmness, 
and elevation recorded of her young life ; and the un- 
adorned eulogy of her virtues moved to unfeigned 
tears the simple sons oY the woods. 

The sun, still concealed behind the horizon, had now 
dj'ed the tops of the mountains with a tinge of purple ; 
and the air, till then overcast by the wrecks of the 
storm, was now pure and serene. All announced a 
clear and propitioiis sky to the travellers, and a safe 
return to their inhabited and quiet villages ; but how 
dark and heavy was the gloom which lowered in the 
hearts of Liyrngstdn and the father of Elluwia ! They 
both remained ia a siletit immobility, their eyes spell- 
bound, as it were, fixed on her apparently lifeless 
countenance, while her breath still evinced that her soul 
hovered there yet. At last she once more raised her 
eyelids, and said, in a fainter voice. 



276 * 

" Father and friend, depart for a safer land. lAy 
spirit only feels joy, aad the body sleeps.'* 

^* Oh ! be not cruel at your last hour," cried Livitig- 
ston« *^ and command us to perform a crime. We can* 
not leave you while you live ; oor can I promise atight^ 
but that I shall not take my own life. Sorrow must 
kin me." 

" Stay, then, till 1 no longer breathe, for I feel tb« 
spirit spreading its wings above ; hut hear these words-*^ 
Thou canst, and must cast off ihe ill of tears. A strong 
spirit can do so ; and he whom Elluwia loves is strong. 
Live for thy land,* for thy brothers, for my father who 
will live to shed his kindness on men in pain , live for 
the thought, that my spirit will part in sorrow, without 
a firm knowled8;e of thy will." 

*^ I will, I will do whatever you command, heavenly 
spirit. Be not angry at my weakness before you. Oh! 
Eiluwia ! stay yet, and give us hopes" 
' " No, no ; 1 am happy now. My eyes see dimly, 
but my spirit is bright. Rise, breath, rise ; Elluwia 
bails the sight. My fiither, ray friend, will live in pride 
of me, and — I feel — Oh ! I see the land where ail our 
. red brothers will soon be sent from this, and where— 
I shall wait for you, in the bosom of-^Tadeuskund." 

At that moment the brilliant orb in the east, rose oa 
the verge of the distant mountain ; and, as iis first ray 
illumined her face, she expired, as if her immaculate 
Spirit had clung to her mortal lips, till it might dive into 
the sea of light; and join, in its ascent, in the universal 
hymn at the return of the car of effulgence and life ; 
whilst her two friends, wrapped in a profound silence 
of admiration and sorrow, long remained prostrated 
before her lifeless .form ; but had been inspired by her 
last words, with the resolution and strength to perform 
the task imposed by her will. 



^, I^E END. 




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